


It's Always Been You

by autumdragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Admiring from Afar, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Isolation, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Merthur sex, Pining, Romance, Roommates, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumdragon/pseuds/autumdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mithian moving in was what started it all. Sort of. She was probably the catalyst. Completely innocent in that, well, she wasn’t deliberate with her actions. See, if Merlin had had the balls to make words of his thoughts and actions of his longings, maybe things would’ve been different for him. 

 

When Mithian moved in with Gwen and Merlin in their last year of uni, the three of them became inseparable. It had been almost six years since they had seen each other. Mithian originally grew up with Merlin and Gwen back in Ealdor. Her family moved when they were sixteen and, yes, even though the promise to keep in touch was ever so fervent in their goodbyes, busy schedules in their adolescence caused them to drift apart. 

 

Of course they checked in every year or so, and when Mithian called with the news that she was transferring to Camelot University, Merlin was of course delighted and he immediately invited her to stay with him and Gwen.

 

Mithian had grown out of her awkward and jaded teenaged body over the years. In its stead was a lady full of grace (for which Merlin was envious because, seriously, his grace percentile was zero). Although Merlin couldn’t really indulge in the female form due to his lusting after men, he knew she was a jaw dropper for both men and women. Gay or straight. 

 

And when Mithian said she could cook, well, Merlin decided she would never leave. He was rather certain he would contract scurvy if he continued down the road of constant Mac’N’Cheese. 

 

She moved in at the beginning of second semester. Christmas had passed with that bittersweet ending, and the coldness of new classes set a chill in every students' bones. 

 

She settled in nicely and they decided that on their first night as roommates, the three of them would watch movies and pig out on popcorn. The duration of their night was spent laughing at Merlin as he sobbed over the happy endings and throwing popcorn at each other. It ended with them comfortably passing out on the couch. 

 

* * *

  

When a knock roused Merlin from his food coma, he was certain he had a hangover equivalent. Never would he eat that much chocolate and popcorn and tea. A food baby was sure to take residence in his stomach for the next week. His neck was quirked at an awkward angle and he was face down on his couch, limbs sprawled out. Gwen’s head lay on the incline of his bottom while Mithian had curled up below Merlin’s feet. 

 

Another impatient knock made him grimace, and he lifted his bum a bit to get his hands under Gwen’s head, slide away gently, and place her down. 

 

Merlin padded his way to the door, noting in the passing mirror that his hair was sticking up at all sorts of angles, his clothes were rumpled, and there was a rather curious brown stain on his shirt. 

 

He opened the door and stopped short, suddenly wishing he had showered, shaved, dressed formally, and applied cologne. 

 

“Uhm, Arthur.” He said unintelligently. “Hi.”

 

Arthur, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded in front of him, gave Merlin a once over and smirked. “Don’t you look pretty.” 

 

Merlin flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… can I- can I help you with something?” 

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you can. See, I’m supposed to have a study session with your beloved Guinevere to prepare for our diagnostic test on Monday.” 

 

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Diagnostic test?” 

 

Arthur nodded, obviously weary of having to continuously explain the absurdity of a test on the first day of new term. “Yes, yes, I know.” He waved his hand in the air. “Professor Kilgarrah is a wanker.” He huffed and looked at Merlin expectantly. “Are you going to let me in or am I to stare at that hideously dirty shirt all morning?” 

 

Merlin deadpanned. “Prat,” He muttered, stepping to the side to let Arthur in. “Don’t mind the floor. It’s a little messy.”

 

Arthur cast a look of disdain over the popcorn peppered floor. “Had a slumber party?” He asked condescendingly. 

 

Indignant, Merlin jutted his chin out. “I happen to _like_ slumber parties.”

 

“Yes, I’m well aware of your inability to sleep by yourself. If I do recall correctly, you spent the majority of your time _whining_ about Gwen’s absence last year.”

 

Merlin grinned sheepishly at him. “I don’t think I _whined_ about it. I just might’ve casually mentioned my dislike of isolation.”

 

“You whined like a _girl_ , Merlin.” Arthur said, waving him off. “I heard you complain about your plight - and I use that term very loosely - endlessly.” 

 

Merlin scowled. “Was just trying to make casual conversation.” He grumbled. “Gwen,” Merlin called. “Gwen wake up.” 

 

There was a groan, but not much else. Merlin walked back to the couch and shook her rather violently. “Gwen. Gwen! Arthur’s here.” 

 

Gwen squinted at him with a pout before processing his words. She quickly sat up with a gasp and a glance at her watch. 

 

“Oh! Arthur I’m so sorry!” 

 

“It’s quite alright, Guinevere. Take all the time you need.” 

 

“I just need to get dressed and wash my face, I’ll-” She flitted about, mumbling to herself before running into her room. 

 

Merlin walked to the kitchen, where Arthur followed, and grabbed two mugs. 

 

“Tea?”

 

With Arthur’s nod, Merlin put on the hot water and took out his box of teas. 

 

“Tetley?” Arthur asked, incredulous. 

 

Merlin paused and looked at him. “Yeah?”

 

At this, Arthur scoffed. “What kind of Englishman are you?” 

 

“Well ex _cuse_ me, Mr. Rich-Father-CEO-of-Whatsitsface, but I live on a part time wage at the café next door. Forgive me for not providing you your cup of Darjeeling.” 

 

Arthur laughed and looked at him as if he were a child. And Merlin felt childish. 

 

The two of them… well they weren’t _best_ friends, but their other friends happened to be friends with each other, so they sort of got caught in the middle and treaded through. Arthur and Merlin had shared some classes, and it was nice for Merlin to actually have someone to sit with. They had studied together the odd time; Arthur had made fun of Merlin whenever he got an answer wrong. And once in a while they’d go out to bars with their other friends. But that was the extent of their friendship. Like, Merlin would _never_ invite him to movie night and expose his (semi) secret love of hopeless romantic movies. Only Gwen was privy to that, simply because she, too, cried at the end of every movie. 

 

Arthur met Merlin in their third year, but Merlin knew (sort of) Arthur from the very first day. He was hard to miss; his blonde hair and deep eyes caught every student’s attention. Merlin could write sickening poetry about Arthur’s eyes if he wanted to. And fuck, did he want to. For the first two years, Merlin watched Arthur (in the most un-stalkerish of ways). Out of habit, his eyes automatically snapped to Arthur whenever he entered a room. Like he had an Arthur Radar. 

 

But evidently, his Gaydar was in need of some tweaking. Because yes, Arthur went on dates with a lot of girls. And yes, Merlin knew he wasn’t gay. But, nevertheless, his crush flourished over the years and remained a constant fluttering in his stomach. His awkwardness only intensified the slight nausea he felt around Arthur. Because, after they met, he not only became the butt end of all Arthur’s jokes, he had also earned himself the title of being a “complete and total idiot.”

 

Still though, Arthur talked to him. So Merlin wasn’t about to complain. 

 

The water boiled and Merlin served the tea, milk and sugar awaiting on the counter. As he stirred his tea, he attempted to make casual conversation again. 

 

“So this test…” He said dumbly. “What is it?” 

 

Arthur cast him a patronizing look. “I’m hopeful even _you_ know what an exam is, Merlin, because if not, then how have you managed for all these years?”

 

Merlin flushed and took a gulp of his tea. It burned all the way down and it made him cringe. “You know what I mean, you prat.” 

 

Amused, Arthur brought the mug up to his lips, said, “Linguistics,” and took a sip. 

 

Merlin made a face. “Sounds dull.” He heard Mithian begin to stir on the couch. 

 

Arthur hummed. “It can be. But-” He stopped short, the mug halfway to his mouth, looking across the room. 

 

Merlin followed his gaze and saw Mithian, stretching out the stiffness of early morning. 

 

“Who,” Arthur set down his mug, “is _that?”_

 

“That’s uh,” A sinking feeling swam down Merlin’s stomach. “That’s Mithian. A transfer student from Cambridge.” He ducked his head down behind his mug, suddenly feeling strange. 

 

Arthur let out a breathy laugh. “Well good on you, mate!” And clapped Merlin on the back. Tea jumped out of his mug and dribbled a scalding path down his fingers. 

 

“Ow! Shit Arthur-” Merlin chastised and looked up, but Arthur was already across the room, sticking his hand out to Mithian. 

 

“Hi,” Arthur said, his voice dulcet. He flashed a smile at Mithian, suave and knee weakening. “I’m Arthur.”

 

“Hi there,” Mithian reached her hand out tentatively. A blush crept its way into her cheeks. “Mithian.” 

 

Arthur’s charm wafted its way over to Merlin and he felt his face contort in disgust. Flirty Arthur was one Merlin didn’t like to see. He turned his body away and leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the conversation, all the while hoping to hear every word.

 

Gwen emerged from her room looking clean, albeit a bit tired, and made her way over to join Merlin. As she poured herself some tea, she noticed Arthur and Mithian chatting animatedly. She smiled gently to herself and added sugar. Merlin stood, brooding over his mug, not looking at either of them. 

 

When Arthur laughed obnoxiously and Mithian tinkered annoyingly, Gwen raised her eyebrows and cast a coy smile over to Merlin. 

 

“They seem to be getting along nicely.” She commented. Merlin snorted and tossed a look over his shoulder. 

 

“I suppose,” he said petulantly. Gwen gave him a strange look, almost disapproving. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

Merlin downed the rest of his tea and felt his insides protest from the heat. He suppressed a grimace. “Nothing.” He said lightly.

 

Gwen looked at him suspiciously once more before turning to Arthur and Mithian. “Arthur,”

 

The two of them looked over at Gwen and Merlin noticed just how much closer their bodies were. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. 

 

“Sorry to break up the lovely idle chat, but we can leave to study, now.” Then she added hastily, “not that I’m trying to rush you, of course.” 

 

Arthur’s gaze flickered over to Mithian before reaching Gwen again. “You know, Guinevere,” he said matter-of-factly, “I think we should get breakfast first.” He clapped his hands together and looked at Mithian. “Would you care to join?”

 

Mithian blushed cutely and nodded. “Yes,” she smiled brilliantly. “I’d like that.” 

 

The three of them shrugged on their coats before Gwen turned to him. “Would you like to come along?”

 

“Uh,” Merlin looked up at the other two, who had struck up another conversation. “No. No, that’s alright.”

 

Gwen frowned. “You know I’m going to be the third wheel here, right? Are you _really_ going to let me be the dreaded third wheel all on my own?” 

 

Merlin looked thoughtful. “Tricycles aren’t that bad.” 

 

Gwen pretended to look offended while she was ushered out the door with Arthur and Mithian. 

 

The door closed, and Merlin sunk.   
  
 

* * *

  

“So he’s taking her out to breakfast, so _what?”_  

 

“Will,” Merlin said, gripping his phone tighter. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at her. He practically _sprinted_ across the room to get to her.”

 

“Arthur hits on anything that has legs, Merlin. He’s always been a bit of a-”

 

“Charmer?” Merlin offered.

  
“I was gonna say man-whore, but yeah, sure, let’s go with that.”

 

“He is _not_ a man-whore,” Merlin protested, suddenly feeling protective of Arthur’s honour. 

 

“Merlin, you barely _know_ the guy!” 

 

“That’s not true!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. The first two years of uni you spent pining after him like a stalker and not _once_ did he notice you. And only when Gwen started dating Lance did you two indulge in casual banter and name calling. Does that sound like a close friendship to you?” 

 

Merlin huffed. “Well it’s not like _you’re_ nice to me.”

 

“That’s different,” Will said. Merlin could practically hear him placing a hand over his heart, humbled. “I am the only one who can insult you, as we have been mates for life and I have earned that honour.” 

 

“I’m touched.”

 

“Look, Merlin,” Will was struggling with his words; a typical occurrence for his best mate. “Look, even if it doesn’t work out with this Mithian girl. Okay? Pretend he never manages to _find_ a woman to settle down with. Do you really think he’d just turn into a knobgobbler?”

 

Merlin frowned. “You know, I don’t think I approve of that word.”

 

Will harrumphed. “Answer the question.”

 

It took about five seconds for Merlin to heave a sigh into the phone and flop on his bed. “No. It’s highly unlikely.” 

 

“Right.” There was an attempted gentler tone. “So just try to get over it, okay?”

 

“You still haven’t gotten over Elena and it’s been more than five _months!_ ” Merlin shot back.

 

“That is _different;_ she and I are soul mates. And she will know this. Once she stops shagging that Valiant guy.” 

 

Merlin snorted. “Yeah well, good luck with that.”

 

“You too,” Will challenged. “Try getting that arse of yours out to meet some more poofs.” 

 

“Just because you know a few gay people doesn’t mean you can start calling us those names.” 

 

Will chuckled. “Can so, mate. I really like the word knobgobbler.”

 

“You’re a downright prick, you carpet-muncher.”

 

“See, now, why would you say that? That’s just cruel.” Will feigned his heartache and Merlin laughed. He heard the door open to his flat and he hastily dismissed Will and hung up. 

 

He attempted nonchalance as he trudged out of his room, hands deep in his pockets. When he saw the state Mithian was in he heaved a sigh. She looked about ready to twirl like a clichéd princess. Gorgeous, radiant, way too fucking happy, and almost sickening. 

 

“Good breakfast?” Merlin asked, trying his best to sound casual. 

 

“Merlin,” Mithian began. She looked like she was about to burst from joy. It was hateful. “Arthur is…”

 

Biting his lip, Merlin fidgeted his way over to the kitchen and took out a mug. Tea therapy.

 

“Yeah, he’s -”

 

“Oh my God! He is wonderful!” She gushed. “So charming, so gorgeous and his _eyes,_ Merlin. _Have you seen his eyes?_ ” 

 

Merlin closed his. Yes. Yes he had seen them. Had dreamed of them. Had stared at them. Knew every shade according to every mood. 

 

“Uh, I guess.” 

 

“He and I are going out to dinner tonight.” She squealed. “Me! Can you believe it?”

 

Merlin shrugged as he made his cup of tea. He turned around and leaned against the counter. “Good for you, Mith.”

 

Mithian did a small dance on the spot and Merlin couldn’t help the grin that bloomed. Poor sod; she was so smitten. She giggled and sidled up beside him, pouring herself a cup. 

 

“So tell me,” she said as she tugged repeatedly on the string of her tea bag. “What’s he like?” 

 

Merlin’s smile slid away from his face. 

 

Well, this was an opportunity. Merlin could tell her how awful he was. How rude. And sadistic. That he collected people’s underwear. Had no regard for others’ feelings. Spent his life as a con. Had broken from prison and was on the run. _Anything._  

 

He didn’t _want_ her to go out with him. It was unfair and unjust. Every single guy he ever liked was either straight or thought him odd looking (isn’t that just the way?). He couldn’t just have this _one?_  

 

It’s not like he thought himself a catch. His big dumb ears got caught on his shirt whenever he tried to remove it, which wasn’t very sexy when he pictured the moment he’d strip in front of someone. And his hair was always sticking up. He was lanky, too, and gauntly pale. Why on Earth would someone like Arthur even _consider_ him?

 

But still - Mithian. She was one of those girls who always got what she wanted. Granted, she worked for a lot of it. But some of it came to her naturally and on a fucking silver platter. And although Merlin was never really the jealous type, the idea of Mithian and Arthur dating sent an angry fire coursing through his veins. He felt abhorrent. 

 

“Arthur? Well he’s…” He tried to scoff. Make him seem typical. But the look on Mithian’s face. Oh God… so hopeful and earnest. Her trust was in his hands and he couldn’t abuse it. He sighed and set his mug on the counter. “He’s amazing.” 

 

Mithian’s eyes lit up. Like, actually sparkled. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “His father owns this really big company and Arthur was supposed to inherit everything. But he eventually told his father he wasn’t going to pursue business; he was going to study English.”

 

She smiled blindingly. Merlin carried on, strained. “He’s majoring in Literature right now. I think he’s interested in being a professor, but he’s still unsure.”

 

Mithian’s eyebrows raised, impressed. Merlin gnawed on his lip before flapping his arms awkwardly. “His father was pissed at first, but he sort of eased off and told Arthur he would pay for tuition under a few conditions. So Arthur studies like mad to get the best grades and prove to his father that he made the right choice.”

 

Her smile split through her face and, with reluctance, Merlin continued. “His favourite colour is red, he really doesn’t like seafood. He likes action movies but has a secret love for the sappy ones. He’s a bit of an arse sometimes. A bit… supercilious. But he’s actually really loyal and kind.” 

 

Mithian beamed. “He sounds incredible.”

 

“Erm… yes. Well I s’pose.” Rubbing his neck, Merlin swiveled to grab his mug and make a beeline for his room. 

 

“Merlin?” 

 

He stopped short, inhaling deeply and turning around with a forced grin on his face. 

 

“Do you think he likes me?”

 

Another opportunity for sabotage. The petty Merlin way deep inside screamed at him to say she wasn’t his type. But the real Merlin softened. “Of course he likes you, Mithian. He doesn’t interrupt his study time for just anyone.”

 

At this point, Mithian looked like she was about to cry from joy. Awkwardly, Merlin gestured to his room and muttered, “gotta study.” He shut the door and released a breath. 

 

Fuck.

  

* * *

  

Mithian spent about an hour getting ready for her date with Arthur. She kept changing and unchanging and changing again. Merlin was starting to get whiplash from her bipolar decisions. From “too slutty?” to “too casual?” and “prudish?”

 

Each time Merlin told her she looked fine. But, “Fine isn’t good enough, Merlin!” so he kept silent and let Gwen help when she returned from her study session. Lance was with her, his arm curled around her waist. After a brief introduction, Mithian had whisked Gwen away and Lance made himself at home on their couch next to Merlin. 

 

“What’s going on?” He asked, referring to the giggling girls. Merlin shrugged, fingering his notebook’s spine and refusing to make eye contact. 

 

“Date.” He muttered. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it, and Lance, bless him, picked up on that.

 

It was silent for a moment before Gwen emerged with Mithian in a pencil skirt and a frilly top. “Lance?”

 

Her boyfriend looked up and smiled.

 

“Does she look datable?” Gwen asked, before adding jokingly, “and try not to be too emphatic about it.” 

 

Lance laughed. “Mithian you look lovely.” His smile remained as he got up and walked over to Gwen. “You look lovely, too,” he said with a kiss. Gwen blushed. 

 

Mithian gasped with sudden emergence. “We need to pick out shoes, too.” 

 

“Alright,” Gwen pushed her back into the room and called over her shoulder, “Lance, if we’re still not ready by the time Arthur comes, just let him in.”

 

The smile fell from Lance’s face. He turned to Merlin, sympathy contorting his features. Merlin sighed and hunched over his notebook. 

 

“Oh.”

 

Merlin felt Lance walk slowly to the couch and sit down beside him. Lance and Will were the only ones who knew about Merlin’s pathetic crush. Will knew because he literally beat it out of him and Lance knew because that man was so irritatingly intuitive. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. 

 

Merlin shrugged, playing it off as nothing. He turned his head up to Lance with a small smile. “Yeah, of course. Fine. It’s just a date.” 

 

Lance nodded before bumping shoulders with Merlin, offering comfort. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Merlin said, his voice a few pitches higher than normal. “Really Lance it’s fine.” He wriggled from Lance’s touch and closed his books. “I think I’ll just go to bed. M’tired.” 

 

Attempting a reassuring smile, Merlin closed the door behind him.

 

 

Ten minutes later, he could hear Arthur’s obnoxious knocking, the girls squealing, the men shaking hands, the inquiry of Merlin’s whereabouts, and Lance’s wonderful excuse along the lines of “he’s not feeling so well”. 

 

Merlin sighed. He was being ridiculous. It was just one date. It wasn’t as if they were serious. Arthur had had lots of dates in his years at uni. Just...never this quickly. Arthur was always a cautious man when it came to relationships. He jumped from date to date, breaking girls’ hearts from his rejections after he realized he couldn’t get involved. He wasn’t one of those guys that looked for a quick shag and moved on. Arthur just seemed bound, somehow. Guarded. Merlin supposed that was what made him so alluring, so mysterious. 

 

He had never seen Arthur move that quickly toward a girl though. 

 

Shaking his head, Merlin forced himself to focus on his preassigned work. His hand worked its way through his hair multiple times; a habit he developed from stress. 

 

He heard Lance and Gwen leave the flat an hour later, probably out for a walk. They’d be home soon and maybe then would Merlin be up for a distraction. 

 

* * *

  

Merlin couldn’t sleep. It was two in the bloody morning and Mithian was not home yet.

 

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” he murmured to himself. “ _Sleep,_ fuck’s sake.” But it did not come because the world worked like that with Merlin. He heaved a sigh and violently flipped over onto his other side. His bed squeaked in protest and he groaned into his pillow. 

 

He proceeded to busy himself by reading a book. But his thoughts constantly swerved back to Arthur and Mithian like an obsessed fangirl. He wasn’t even sure what book he was reading by the time he reached the third chapter. So he slammed it shut and picked his laptop up from the floor and sifted through the internet. Merlin even tried to indulge in some porn, but wanking while thinking about Arthur while he was on a date just seemed perverse. 

 

Finally, at around three in the morning, the door opened rather loudly and Mithian and Arthur blundered through. She was giggling at something and he was suppressing his laughter with hushes. 

 

Merlin, like a dog hearing a whisper, perked his head up and hovered at his door. 

 

“...nervous for my first day.” 

 

“Well I can show you around campus on Monday, if you’d like.” Arthur offered. Prat. 

 

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Mithian said. Merlin rolled his eyes at her poor attempt at passivity. 

 

“Not at all,” Arthur said, his posh accent causing Merlin to frown. “In fact, I insist. You have no choice in the matter.”

 

Mithian laughed. “A bit presumptuous, isn’t it? What makes you think I’d like you to show me around?” She was setting herself up for what Merlin knew was inevitably going to come next. 

 

He heard nothing and knew what that meant. Could feel the post-kiss haze that enriched the air. It was fast, he realized. But that was how university students worked sometimes. 

 

“Fuck,” he breathed. Merlin rested his head against his door and closed his eyes. 

 

“Oh,” Mithian exhaled. “Well if you insist…”

 

Arthur laughed softly and they murmured their farewells. The door clicked behind him and Merlin retreated to the confines of his bed. Only after Mithian’s sighs evaporated into the mist of dozing did he fall into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

On the Wednesday of their first week of school, Merlin was most dismayed to find Mithian in one of his classes. 

 

It wasn't that he was angry with her, per se. To be fair, she didn’t know how he felt about Arthur. And to be even more fair, everyone knew that Arthur was straight. So it wasn't like he even stood a chance. 

 

Still, though, when he heard Mithian’s tinkering “Merlin! Merlin, over here!” shouting at him through the crowd of 200 students, he tried his best to avoid her and pretend he didn’t hear her. 

 

But a “fellow” student tapped him on the shoulder to point his attention to Mithian, and he was trapped. 

 

“Oh! Mithian!” Merlin ascended the stairs clumsily, pretending to be surprised.

 

They sat themselves down near the back. Later on, Merlin would probably guess she sat them there so she could ramble on about Arthur as much as she wanted without getting in trouble. 

 

Mithian proceeded to talk about her new classes and all the wonderful new people in her life while Merlin tried to act like he was paying attention. And as the last half hour of class dragged on, Mithian changed the subject to Arthur. 

 

“I’m just so thankful to you, Merlin.” 

 

Merlin bit his pen and looked at her. 

 

“I mean, I wasn’t very happy before I moved here to Camelot.” Mithian shifted, then, suddenly shy. “It just feels like a fresh new start… and you’ve been so wonderful and supportive.”

 

Smiling, Merlin placed a hand over Mithian’s. “Mith-” 

 

“And Arthur’s been incredible, too. He’s been showing me around the campus and introducing me to all his friends.” 

 

Mithian’s hand slipped away from under Merlin’s as she counted off all the people she had met thanks to Arthur. Leon, Elyan,-

 

“And Gwaine; he’s _gorgeous_ , isn’t he Merlin?” 

 

Yes, Gwaine was gorgeous. And yes, Merlin had seen Arthur introducing Mithian to everyone. Thrice he saw Arthur and Mithian, his arm around her shoulders, walking around the campus and laughing. 

 

She managed to fit in with everyone quite nicely. Lance, as always, had taken quite a liking to her and remained kind, despite Merlin’s bitterness. He did suppose it was above Lance to hate her simply because Merlin was pining after Arthur. Loyal git. 

 

Gwaine had hit on her, as per usual, but it was mainly to make her uncomfortable. Arthur’s retaliation was just extra for him. She became quite popular and well liked. And, regardless of how much he wanted to, Merlin couldn’t resent her for her effervescent personality. 

 

Whenever he spotted the two of them on campus, Merlin ducked into a nearby alcove and waited until he thought it was safe. Even seeing them made his stomach clench. 

 

He was not, in the slightest, looking forward to this semester. 

 

When class ended, as Mithian was in the middle of her speech about what to wear for her and Arthur’s second date, Merlin excused himself quickly and left to get to work at the café.  

 

* * *

 

Merlin returned home from work that night, having quite the trying day. His Wednesdays were turning out to be the most hellish of all the weekdays; the sprint from campus to the café was long and arduous. It only seemed typical, by now, that his manager would schedule him in just thirty minutes after his last class on the other side of the fucking universe.  

 

He had spent his shift tending to rude customers. That was usually the norm on Wednesdays and Mondays; sort of when the week seemed it would never end. He shouldn’t have had to put up with it, but he, too, could feel it drag on endlessly. If he was allowed, Merlin would’ve been a downright git too.

 

A customer had actually walked up to him while he was in the staff room and demanded a new coffee because he used low fat milk instead of skim. Something like that. Merlin found himself suppressing the urge to throw the drink in his face and add in a smartass remark, but none came to mind. 

 

Thus led to Merlin lugging his feet on the ground while he slowly walked to his flat. Only three days into the semester and he already felt like he was dying. 

 

He opened the door to his flat and stopped short when he saw Arthur and Mithian snogging on the couch. She was on his lap, her fingers tangled in his gorgeous hair; Arthur’s hands were stationary on her hips. 

 

The door had opened quietly and left Merlin unannounced, but in his apathy, he had sort of swung it open and caused it to bang loudly against the wall. Arthur and Mithian pulled apart.

 

“Oh!” Mithian blushed, hiding her face in Arthur’s shoulder with an embarrassed giggle. 

 

“S-sorry!” Merlin said hastily, hanging up his coat and collecting himself. His stomach wouldn’t halt its plummeting. “I didn’t meant to… and… sorry…”

 

Mithian just giggled again and pushed herself off Arthur. “Arthur and I just got back from our movie. I’ve made some chicken and steamed vegetables. Would you like to join us?” 

 

Fuck no, Merlin thought. 

 

He narrowed his eyes in contemplation before he shook his head. “No, that’s alright. Thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

 

And he took off to his room, closing himself in and refusing to think about his grumbling stomach.  

 

* * *

  

On Thursday, the day after he walked in on Arthur and Mithian kissing, Merlin walked to his Shakespeare class in sort of a daze. He had woken up a little later than he had hoped for (he had been unable to sleep because Arthur and Mithian had stayed up late, chatting and kissing) and ended up skipping breakfast. His stomach felt like a cavernous hole as he sat in the back, alone, and took his books out. 

 

“You’re certainly not a morning person.” 

 

And Arthur sat beside him.

 

“Arthur!” Merlin started and closed his books, suddenly shy of its contents. “What, uh- what are you doing here?” 

 

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Arthur leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I’m not sure how many English classes you attended in high school, Merlin, - however, judging from your stuttering and constant mind afflictions, I’m assuming not many - but Shakespeare is taught for most English and Lit Majors.” 

 

Cheeks flaring, Merlin slumped in his chair. Arthur’s cologne (that Merlin _knew_ was only worn for Mithian) wafted over to him and he instantly felt intoxicated. 

 

“So maybe your question for me is better reserved for yourself. What is a Biology Major doing in a Shakespeare class?” 

 

Sighing, Merlin flipped mindlessly through his books. “I happen to enjoy Shakespeare.” 

 

Arthur scoffed but said nothing.

 

Throughout the class, Arthur’s arm would bump into Merlin’s and shivers would run down his spine. Arthur’s scent left everything hazy and unfocused. He was so distracted that he couldn’t process what his professor was saying. 

 

Arthur then proceeded to make fun of his incompetence and question his ability to even walk. 

 

As stated before: Merlin was not, in the slightest, looking forward to this semester. 

 

* * *

  

The next morning, Mithian bulldozed her way into Merlin’s room and squealed something incoherent but sounding very much like “IMHISGIRLFRIEND” and Merlin prayed to this merciless god that what he’d heard was a farce. 

 

Because this meant something. Arthur asking Mithian to be his girlfriend _meant_ something. Arthur wasn’t exactly cold, but he never put his feelings on display for everyone to see. Only a select few, Merlin not being one of them, truly knew about the troubles at home. The fights with his father. The anniversary of his mother’s death. The arguments with his sister, Morgana. 

 

It seemed like Merlin knew a lot, but he had only managed to squeeze out vague explanations from Gwen whilst trying to seem apathetic. 

 

So after the dreadful news of Mithian’s new beau woke him, Merlin squinted up at her, while running a hand through his hair, and mustered a grin. “That’s great, Mith. Good on you.” Which was a very un-Merlin thing to say. But Mithian, beaming, traipsed into Gwen’s room to screech exactly the same thing. The only variation was Gwen’s squeal that followed. 

 

He couldn’t help himself; Merlin slammed his door shut and made a resolution to buy a lock. 

 

* * *

  

He had walked in on them snogging on the couch a few more times after that, and each time hurt more than the last. Merlin sometimes ended up awkwardly standing there, unnoticed, and backing himself out of the flat to go for a walk. Other times he would open the door loudly and the two would rip apart, laughing and blushing like teenagers. For which Merlin would apologize profusely and make a getaway to his room. There, he ended up blasting music on his headphones until he was certain Arthur had left.

 

* * *

  

As the second week of their semester started, Mithian applied for a job at the café Merlin worked at. And, after she got the job, Merlin was to train her. Not that he minded. But their breaks would be at the same time. Meaning Arthur would drop in for a few to inquire about her day, if Merlin was being nice, and “what time should I pick you up for dinner?”

 

Mithian learned the ropes fast. And in two days she was serving coffee and tea flawlessly. Which sort of bothered Merlin because he _still_ spilled a little or knocked over the odd pepper shaker. But Mithian was ethereal in her movements and charismatic in her speech. 

 

He had forgotten how annoyed he had been at age fifteen when Mithian bettered him in _everything._ All those feelings rushed back and he found himself unpleasantly green with envy. He _hated_ that side of him. It was ugly when it reared its head, clawing its way into his heart and eating out the good.

 

But every time Mithian glanced at him, a smile forced its way onto his face. To her, everything was fine.  

 

* * *

  

It was late on the third Thursday when his Arthur Radar picked up on said man entering the café. Mithian was bustling through the last of her customers as Merlin, unfocused, started closing the shop. 

 

Waiting for her, Arthur sauntered over to the barstool and sat himself in front of Merlin.

 

“She’ll be done soon.” Merlin said, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s my fault she’s late; I dropped my tray and she offered to help me clean it up.” 

 

“You’d make a terrible servant.” Arthur said. 

 

“And you’d make a pompous Noble.” 

 

Arthur scoffed. “I would be the _King._ ” 

 

Merlin shook his head and chuckled. He liked talking to Arthur when Mithian wasn’t around. It was easier. There wasn’t the constant reminder that Mithian had bettered him in the hunt for a boyfriend, too. 

 

Snapping his fingers, Arthur stuck his chin in the air. “Peasant, I demand sustenance.”

 

Merlin pulled up a cup, already ready, and placed it in front of Arthur. “Your goblet, your Majesty.” 

 

“Peasant,” Arthur said deeply. “What is this?”

 

“It’s your coffee. Black, hazelnut blend, extra hot. Just how you like it.” 

 

Arthur’s eyes, almost wonderstruck, flicked up to meet Merlin’s. They stared at each other for a moment before Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, a curious grin on his face. 

 

“How… how’d you know that?” 

 

_Because I’ve been staring at you pathetically for the past three years and I know what you like to drink and eat._

 

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Uh- Mithian. Mithian told me.” 

 

Glancing down at his coffee, Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Mithian slid her arms around his shoulders. 

 

“Ready to go, Arthur.” She chirped. Merlin winced. Mithian turned to Merlin and smiled. “See you at home, Merlin.”

 

“Yeah, see you.” He said, his breath catching in his throat. He nodded his head, smiling, and added, “thanks again for your help.” 

 

Mithian laughed and turned to Arthur. “You should’ve seen the mess he made,” she grabbed the cup from his hands and took a sip of his coffee. She recoiled. “Eugh, hazelnut? Really, Arthur?” 

 

The smile slid from Merlin’s face as Arthur turned to Merlin and cast him a knowing look. He felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. Avoiding eye contact, Merlin grabbed his cloth and rubbed a hole into the glass counter until the couple exited the restaurant. 

 

It wasn't like it was a big deal. It was coffee. Fucking coffee. A drink made from a bean. Most university students preferred it black because it was stronger and more potent. It kept them awake. Half of the orders Merlin got at work were black coffees or teas. 

 

But it was _Arthur._ A man who barely even spoke to Merlin and when he did, it was about his inability to do anything properly, or how much of a hopeless idiot he was being. They didn’t know much about each other. Well, Arthur _thought_ Merlin didn’t know much about him. 

 

Arthur was a very private person, and only a handful of people knew details like that. And Merlin never wanted to invade his privacy, but after observing for a while, well, he eventually picked up on a few things. 

 

He was sure Arthur didn’t even know what colour Merlin’s hair was. Because he didn’t care. Merlin never expected him to care. Sort of. 

 

There was this tiny part of him that hoped Arthur would be his Knight in Shining Armour, pushing his way through a crowd to get to Merlin. Dusting away his tears with his fingertips and whispering sweet nothings and everythings to him. 

 

Oh god _, stop. Stop right now before you make an even bigger idiot of yourself._  

 

Only when the door closed and he was completely alone, did Merlin look up to see Arthur smile, lean down, and press his lips to Mithian’s. He sagged against the counter, swearing softly to himself. 

 

* * *

  

He couldn’t sleep that night. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was still berating himself for being so creepy around Arthur, or if it was because the _happy couple_ was outside his room on the couch, murmuring to each other and kissing occasionally. 

 

As the hours ticked into single digits, conversation between the two became sparse and soft moans became abundant. Merlin shoved his pillow over his face, half hoping it would smother him and, at the very least, bury him into a semblance of slumber. He tried to quash the image of himself kissing Arthur. Tried to erase the sounds of his little moans that sent Merlin’s body into heat. He tried to ignore Mithian and replace her with himself, with _him_ running his fingers through his hair and curling in his lap. With _him_ fitting their bodies together like they were once a single being, later ripped apart and meant to find each other again. Fitting their bodies together like it was _meant_ to be. 

 

And maybe it was his thoughts racing so quickly that they became white noise, or maybe it was because the last few nights of ill sleep had caught up to him, but Merlin finally managed to sleep; his dreams filled with him tumbling through life, searching for what couldn’t be found. 

  

* * *

  

When he woke up the next day, well passed noon, Merlin grimaced in the mirror. Dark rings were beginning to form below his eyes. He found himself moving around slowly, a little light headed. 

 

Fridays he had to himself; no classes, no Mithian, no Arthur. 

 

So he went back to sleep. 

 

* * *

  

His phone ringing was what woke him. Merlin groaned and looked at the caller ID. It was Will. 

 

“What?” Merlin croaked, moving his legs restlessly. 

 

“Did I wake the princess from her sleep?” Will drawled. Normally Merlin would’ve laughed and retorted just as immaturely, but,

 

“I’m really not in the mood, Will.” 

 

The silence that followed told Merlin he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. 

 

Will sighed. “What’s he done this time?” 

 

“It’s not like that,” Merlin rolled over and sat up, hunching in on himself. 

 

“You know I can tell when you’re lying. Even from a thousand miles away.”

 

“Will,” Merlin released a breath and rubbed his eyes. “You’re an hour drive away. That’s hardly a thousand miles.” 

 

“It could be a thousand miles or two metres; you’re still too fucking far for my liking.” 

 

That was sweet. Truly touching. Merlin just rolled his eyes. Will: ever the exaggerator.

 

“Maybe that’s why Elena broke up with you. You’re more gay than I am.” 

 

“Oi!” Will yelled. “I would never gobble your knob.” 

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You need to find better slang. It’s getting to be a little upsetting.” 

 

“We tried fairy, remember? But you didn’t like that one either. Picky bastard, you are.”

 

Merlin sneered. “I s’pose I should work on that, shouldn’t I?”

 

“Well you’ve got to give me _something,_ mate!” 

 

Sighing, Merlin got out of bed. “I’ll reconsider fairy, alright? Now please let me hang up.”

 

“Merlin-” Will paused, again, trying to find the right words. “Look, just ignore him, yeah? He’s not worth-”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Will. See you.”

 

He emerged from his room, feeling angry but not really sure why. Mithian was in the kitchen, writing in her notebook. She glanced up at him and quirked an eyebrow. 

 

“You slept late,” she said, almost sounding judgmental. Merlin looked at the clock; it was already three in the afternoon. He shrugged in response and shuffled to the fridge to take out a drink. 

 

“How was class?” He asked as he pulled out a cup. 

 

“Professor Gaius is a little weird.” Mithian said as she sat back in her chair. “Does he always look at his students like that?”

 

Merlin laughed. “Some people think he had surgery to purposely keep his eyebrow that high.”

 

Mithian smiled at him and closed her books. “I’ll be making dinner soon. Would you like to join me?” 

 

“Yeah, actually,” Merlin said. “I’d love to. Where’s Gwen?”

 

“She’s having dinner at Lance’s tonight. But Arthur will be coming over soon to keep us company.” 

 

“Oh,” And Merlin said nothing else.

 

The silence that followed was rather daunting as Mithian put away her books. Merlin tried to look thoughtful, like he was remembering he had plans. But Will was right; he was a rubbish liar. So as he discarded the rest of his drink, stomach suddenly clenching, he avoided looking at her and said,

 

“You know what, Mithian, I don’t think I can join you and Arthur for dinner. I, uh - think I have to work.” 

 

He heard Mithian turn to look at him, but he still refused to make eye contact. “Merlin,” she sounded as though she were warning him. Cautioning him to think carefully before speaking. “Is something bothering you?”

 

Pleasantly, Merlin glanced at her and shook his head. “No,”

 

“Do you not like Arthur or something?”

 

“I-” He chose his words meticulously. “No, I like him as much as anyone, really.”

 

“Then what is it?” Mithian paused as she folded her arms across her chest. “You’ve been avoiding me for the past two weeks, now, Merlin. Have I done something?” 

 

Guilt settled in Merlin’s stomach. He was definitely no longer hungry. “No.” He said shamefully. “No, Mithian. ‘Course not.”

 

“Then what?” 

 

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I-I just don’t want to intrude on you and Arthur.”

 

Which was true, in a way. He could grit his teeth and manage a lie like that.

 

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Mithian unfolded her arms and embraced Merlin. 

 

“I like him, Merlin.” Her words were muffled in his shirt. “Never expected to, to be honest. But I do.” She squeezed his waist and added, “thank you.”

 

He didn’t join them for dinner that night. 

 

Instead he was able to sneak out before Arthur got to their flat and go to the café he worked at to order a sandwich. He stayed as late as he could before trudging his way back to the flat. 

 

When he got home, all the lights were out. Thankfully, their date was over and Merlin didn’t have to observe any love sick behaviour. 

 

But then he saw Arthur’s coat still hanging beside his, and Arthur’s shoes still tossed beside his runners, and his whole body filled with dread. 

 

His light headedness from before blasted through and turned into a full blown headache as ideas of what could be happening in Mithian’s room swarmed and flocked in his brain. 

 

It didn’t mean they were shagging. It didn’t. Maybe they had too much to drink and Arthur was being sensible. Maybe they were just in her room, talking. Or maybe he just neglected to take his shoes and coat home with him…

 

They had been dating for two weeks, now. When he thought about it, Merlin wasn’t really allowed to be surprised. It was to be expected. Mithian wasn’t a prude. She had experience, clearly Arthur did too, so sex probably wasn’t as big a deal for them as it was for Merlin. 

 

But still, he couldn’t help the knot that began to twist its way into his chest. He stood in the doorway, frozen, as the very idea of Mithian and Arthur being in the same bed hung over him like a thundercloud. 

 

He tried his best to push the image of Naked Arthur out of his brain. To rid the idea of the sweet bliss Arthur would cause him. Or the trembling vulnerability he'd cause him. Or the whispered confessions being sealed away into their sweat-glistened skin. Or the gentleness of preparation before he'd take Merlin away completely. Or the tears that would be kissed away.

 

He really did try.

 

But as Merlin staggered to his room, his heavy breathing blocking out his surroundings, the images forced their way to his brain. Enticing him to wobble on the tight rope of what he wished so desperately for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's slang for homosexuals is strictly for his character. Sorry for any offence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance

* * *

 

When Merlin saw Arthur and Mithian the next day, he knew something was different. There was a change that radiated sickly sweet. Their touches became lingered and unnecessary. And when they smiled at each other, fucking birds sang. And Merlin squawked indignantly.  

 

He guessed that they did, in fact, shag. 

 

Which wasn’t a problem. Not at all. It wasn’t even Merlin’s business. What people did in their bedroom mattered to no one but themselves. A private thing. A safe room of shamelessness and comforting secrecy. 

 

When he entered the kitchen that Saturday morning, Merlin walked straight from his door to the hall door without so much as a “hello” or “good morning”. Because he _knew_ that seeing them would crack his chest just a little more open. Seeing them would cut him and bleed him dry. And deep in his disdain was his guilt; he wasn’t allowed to be angry at their happiness. He wasn’t being fair. 

 

He stifled that part of him. The “Will” part of him that kept telling him to “just get _over_ it, Merlin,”. 

 

He remained quiet, instead. And remained “Fine. Really, I am. Fine, that is,”.

 

For the rest of the weekend, Merlin had to witness Mithian’s glow. It followed her about and even scratched its way into his room. It teased him. Glorified the champion. Sneered at the loser.

 

When his phone rang, Merlin ignored it; he knew who it was. But he was too exhausted to be "fine".

  

* * *

  

On Monday, as he watched Mithian chassé to each of her tables, Arthur entered the café. But instead of sauntering over to Mithian, he approached Merlin. 

 

Merlin lost all sense of gravity when Arthur reached him, and his tray fell from his hands and hit the floor with a resounding clang. Customers jumped, irritated, as Merlin shot an apologetic look to the entire restaurant. 

 

“Remind me to ask for another server if you show up.” Arthur said, smirking. 

 

“What do you want?” Merlin glowered. 

 

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised and a little affronted. “Well,” he said pleasantly. “Someone’s cheerful. Did you have another moment of buffoonery and break more dishes?”

 

It was supposed to be funny. He clearly meant it as a joke. But all Merlin could do was grimace out a smile and sort of curl in on himself as though Arthur had just dealt him a crippling blow. He ached. 

 

Arthur was waiting for a biting retort, to which he’d respond with a witty rebuttal, but when Merlin said nothing, he frowned. “Is something bothering you?”

 

And that, for some weird reason, kind of hurt even more. He looked uncharacteristically earnest. Like he actually wanted to _know_ if he was alright. Leaning down to pick up his tray, Merlin fumed. Because that wasn’t fair. Arthur wasn’t allowed to ask him things like that. He wasn’t allowed to look at him like that. Or speak to him like that. Like he _cared._  

 

Keeping his gaze on the floor where his tray had just been, Merlin shrugged. “Maybe,” he answered. His obfuscate behaviour was intentional; Merlin still wasn’t a skilled liar.

 

Arthur studied him and Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Is this a bad time?” He asked.  

 

Presently, no. So Merlin shrugged again and gestured around to the tables. “Not really. But my customers might pitch a fit if I don’t start on their refills soon.”

 

Tension lifted, Arthur smiled. “I have a proposal for you.”

 

Heart skipping a beat, Merlin managed a strangled, “oh?” 

 

“Yes, I…” Arthur paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s not that I need your _help_ , per se.” At that, Merlin scowled. “But I wouldn’t mind your company while studying for our Shakespearean class.”

 

Merlin was floored. Stupefied. And a little offended. “Me?” He pointed to himself, just to clarify. Arthur, a little exasperated at his slow brain connection, rolled his eyes and nodded. “Why?”

 

Arthur looked like he didn’t know how to answer that. It was as though Merlin should’ve known it for obvious reasons. But seriously, _why_ would Arthur want to study with him?

 

“I mean,” Merlin gestured vaguely. “You constantly make fun of me in that class and remind me of how much of an idiot I am.”

 

A smile replaced Arthur’s curious look. He chuckled. “Yes, well. You should be flattered.”

 

 _“Flattered?!”_ Merlin sputtered. 

 

“‘Tis not a term of detestation, Peasant.” And Merlin chaffed at him. “But in its stead, a term of _endearment.”_  

 

His stomach flipped. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

 

Arthur, seeing Merlin unresponsive to his attempt at Shakespearean humour, heaved an annoyed breath. “Look, you don’t _have_ to study with me. I just figured-”

 

“No, no!” Merlin interrupted. “It’s fine, really. I’m just trying to figure out how you’ve managed to compliment me _and_ insult me at the same time.”

 

Arthur winked. “It’s all part of my charm.”

 

And Merlin’s knees buckled. 

 

“I’ll text you a time and place.” And Arthur strolled away to find Mithian. 

 

Merlin watched, pathetically, as Arthur sauntered across the restaurant, until he was out of sight. He swallowed thickly. _Fuck._

 

* * *

  

Arthur had texted him that night, asking if he’d like to study on Wednesday during an hour break they both happened to have before class. Trying to seem ambivalent, Merlin waited exactly ten minutes before responding with a “sure. See you at the library.”

 

Cool and casual. Merlin’s finest work. 

 

He went about his day after that, feeling a little lighter.

 

* * *

  

On Tuesday, Arthur was to join Lance, Gwen, Mithian, and (hopefully not) Merlin for dinner. When Merlin had returned from the campus, Mithian was already cooking, Arthur and Lance were chatting on the couch, and Gwen was setting the table. For five. So Merlin was expected to join, then. 

 

He tried his best to seem interested. Even tried to seem hungry. But to be honest, the smell of food just made Merlin feel nauseous. His body was becoming accustomed to little sustenance these days. 

 

When dinner was ready, the five of them sat at the table (Merlin made sure to sit as far away from Arthur as possible). They helped themselves to Mithian’s “famous casserole”, as she had so modestly called it.

 

And after shoving his food around with his fork, Merlin took one bite. He winced as his stomach churned unpleasantly, distressed from the intruder. 

 

He tried to get involved with the conversation and tuck in nicely, but Merlin found himself swinging in and out of attention. A relatively engaging conversation would pop up and Merlin would fully intend to contribute, but then everyone’s words would become a mindless lull.

 

His food was left untouched. Only a bite was taken from it. And although it tasted good, Merlin couldn’t bear it. Everything turned to ash in his mouth. 

 

He tried to eat a little more to be polite and not cause worry, but when he finally took his eyes off his plate, he saw Arthur tangle his fingers with Mithian’s. He saw Arthur lean forward and whisper something in her ear. He saw her blush. And then Arthur quirked his eyebrow suggestively. 

 

Merlin’s head ached. His chest hurt. He was sure if he watched them any longer he would be sick. He was encumbered. 

 

Feeling nauseous, Merlin dropped his fork and let it clang loudly to the table, halting all conversations. 

 

“S-sorry,” Merlin said. He really wasn’t good at thinking on his feet; no reasonable excuses would come to him.

 

“Merlin?” Gwen leaned forward and placed her hand over his. “What is it?” 

 

Merlin swatted her hand away, suddenly frustrated. “N-Nothing. I’m fine.” Fine. He’s fine. “...Just a bit of a headache.”

 

He guessed the half-truth was reasonable enough. And it was true. His head was thrumming, stabbing his abjection through his eye sockets. 

 

He looked guiltily at Mithian. “Thank you, Mithian, for dinner.”

 

Understandably, she looked offended at his continuous attempts at avoidance. She quirked an impatient eyebrow at him. “You didn’t even eat-”

 

“Get some rest.” Arthur cut in. 

 

Merlin stared at him, trying desperately to hide his misery. He blushed and muttered another apology before shuffling to his room and closing the door quietly. 

 

His thoughts wouldn’t connect to his movements, so he kept a slow pace as he stripped himself, almost painfully, and put his clothes away. He slipped into his bed languidly, this time, instead of dramatically throwing himself on it.  

 

Conversation over dinner was a little stunted, from what Merlin could hear. Mithian was in a mood, clearly, but Arthur’s voice was surer and almost challenging. 

 

Still, knowing they were out there kept Merlin awake. Even as his eyes teared with fatigue, he could not sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, they would burn, and he’d have to open them once more. An endless cycle that kept him grasping for sleep that was just out of his reach. 

 

Arthur and Lancelot left after a few hours. He was grateful for that because he was sure if Arthur slept over, Merlin would’ve turned nocturnal.

 

Mithian said goodnight the moment the boys left, and she closed her door a little louder than necessary. But Gwen didn’t go to bed. Instead, she quietly padded her way over to Merlin’s room. 

 

Merlin buried his head under his pillow. His door opened just a little as Gwen checked in on him. He smiled fondly to himself when she tutted ever so softly. He knew she was wondering what she was missing. He knew she was trying to connect the dots. Gwen had known Merlin ever since elementary school. She was the sister he never had. It was a foreign thing, not talking to her about this. It was even more foreign that he hadn’t really spoken to her in two weeks...

 

He sighed when his door clicked shut and refused to think about the lonely island on which he was secluding himself; none able to get to him, and him unable to leave. Instead, as the early light of morning illuminated his room, he thought of Arthur and his eyes, coruscating brilliantly. Looking at him the way he looked at Mithian. And only then was he able to surrender to slumber. 

  

* * *

  

When Merlin awoke the next morning, he was most dismayed to discover his alarm had not gone off. Either that or he turned it off unconsciously.

 

Cursing rather loudly he jumped out of bed, pulled on some clothes lying around (only, of course, if they passed the sniff check), ran a hand through his hair, and picked up his backpack. He quickly jogged to the door and shrugged on his jacket. Gwen, in the kitchen, said, “aren’t you going to have breakfast?”

 

Merlin’s stomach growled. It felt hollow.  “No. Not hungry.” And he closed the door. 

  

* * *

  

“Do you shower in the mornings, or am I to assume you like deep frying chips on your hair?”

 

Merlin scowled as he plunked his books down and flopped into a chair.

 

“Overslept.” He grumbled. 

 

Arthur looked him up and down. “Good, I guess. You’ve been looking terrible lately.”

 

Merlin heaved a sigh, too tired to argue with him. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

Shifting, Arthur opened his mouth, then shut it. He tried again. “Is something upsetting you?”

 

Merlin refused to make eye contact. He shook his head and opened his books. “Okay.” He blinked rapidly. “Which sonnet are we studying here?”

 

Arthur stared at Merlin for a few more seconds before he, too, opened his books. “I believe it’s sonnet 100…” And he hummed for a moment while his finger slid down the page. “Here:

 

_“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long_

_To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?_

_Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song,_

_Dark’ning thy power to lend base subjects light?_

_Return, forgetful Muse-”_ ”

 

“Okay,” Merlin put up a hand with a lighthearted chuckle. “You’re getting way too ahead of yourself.”

 

Arthur, not really used to criticism, sat up a bit straighter. 

 

“I just mean,” Merlin continued before Arthur could object. “You’re trying to decipher the sonnet as a whole. You can’t do that yet.”

 

“And why not?” Arthur asked indignantly. 

 

“Arthur, this is like a different language. You’re not going to read a whole German paragraph and expect to understand it until you learn it one bit at a time.”

 

Arthur frowned. “It’s not foreign, _Mer_ lin. I understand most of it. It’s just sickeningly exaggerated.”

 

Merlin struggled for a moment, trying his best to preserve Arthur’s pride. “It’s _like_ a different language. You can’t hear it two or three times and expect to understand it. You need to immerse yourself in it until you’re accustomed to it.”

 

Arthur looked a bit surprised for a second before smirking. He shook his head. “The day _I_ learn something from _you…_ I never dreamed of it.”

 

Merlin sneered at him. “Very funny.”

 

He leaned across the table, dangerously aware of their close proximity, and wrote down the first two lines in Arthur’s book. 

 

“ _“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long; To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?”_ What do you think that means?”

 

“You know, Merlin, despite what you may think, I’m not actually a child.”

 

“Just answer the question, clotpole.” Merlin snapped. He screwed up his face. 

 

Any insult. Anyone at all. And he chose _clotpole._  

 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “A what?”

 

“Clotpole,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “It’s… Shakespearean.” 

 

He cringed at Arthur’s teasing laugh. “It certainly is not.”

 

“It certainly is too!”

 

Arthur guffawed. “Describe it to me.”

 

Merlin jutted his chin out. “Arthur Pendragon.”

 

Arthur laughed, his head thrown back with his luscious neck exposed. Merlin shifted uncomfortably, feeling flushed. 

 

He coughed as Arthur calmed down and flicked the tip of his pencil on the written line. “Answer the question.”

 

Arthur cleared his throat to rid the laughter and leaned forward over his notebook. “It’s pretty obvious, really. He’s wondering where his Muse has gone. He feels it might’ve forgotten him and is no longer giving him the power he needs to write.”

 

Merlin glanced up at Arthur through his fringe. “That’s right,” he said approvingly. Arthur looked at him with a cheeky grin, and only then did Merlin realize how close their faces were. Arthur seemed to notice, too, because he shifted uncomfortably before flickering his eyes down to Merlin’s mouth and clearing his throat again. 

 

“Right,” Arthur said, tapping his pen annoyingly on the table. “Right, next line.”

  

* * *

  

They continued that way for the hour they had, managing to “crack the Shakespearean code”, as Arthur had put it. Merlin wasn’t really sure why Arthur needed him. All he did was sort of nudge Arthur in the direction of the right answer. 

 

“So, uh…” Merlin grimaced, suddenly very aware of his tongue. “Did you need more, erm, company? To study, I mean.”

 

Arthur’s smirk sent him blushing. “I do, but it won’t be for a while. Got plans.”

 

As Merlin nodded, he stood up too quickly and a head rush rendered him disoriented. He sat back down with a small groan. Christ, if he fainted in front of Arthur he would _never_ want to wake up again. 

 

Arthur stopped zipping his coat halfway. “For goodness sake, what is your problem?”

 

“Nothing,” Merlin said, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. His headache returned as the distraction of homework cleared. His stomach felt cavernous. 

 

“I haven’t seen you smile in days.”

 

Merlin felt his heart flutter pleasantly. Surveying Arthur, he shrugged casually. “I’m just tired. Didn’t have time to eat breakfast because I know how _uptight_ you are about timeliness.” 

 

Arthur made to insult Merlin right back, but instead frowned. “You didn’t eat last night, either.”

 

Oh, right. Shit. 

 

“Erm…” Merlin rubbed his neck awkwardly and turned his head to Arthur. 

 

Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly. “That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all day, Merlin.”

 

Before he could respond, though, Arthur rummaged through the front pocket of his backpack and threw a granola bar at him. Merlin fumbled and dropped it. 

 

Arthur let out an exasperated breath. “You have to be the most _uncoordinated_ person I know.”

 

Merlin grinned sheepishly. A warning finger pointed at him and Arthur turned serious. “You eat something. And get some sleep.”

 

“Yes sire,” Merlin said sarcastically.

 

“I mean it. Despite how annoying I find you, I much prefer you when you’re well.”

 

Merlin, granola bar clutched in hand, could only nod, dumbstruck, as Arthur made a hasty exit from the library. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Shakespeare translations are my own; Shakespeare is always open to interpretation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

* * *

 

 

After pulling himself together upon Arthur’s leave, Merlin dragged his feet to his next class, dreading that he had to sit next to Mithian for over an hour. 

 

She was angry with him. And he didn’t blame her for it. He had been ducking her and Arthur for the last three or so weeks. And his display at dinner last night certainly didn’t help. He was sure that if the roles had been reversed, Merlin would’ve been pretty upset too. 

 

So he tentatively ascended the stairs to the back where Mithian was already sitting. He nervously ran a hand through his hair before sidling over to her and taking a seat. 

 

He tried speaking several times at the beginning, but the words would halt in his mouth and leave him gaping like a fish. Mithian was very standoffish; she had her arms crossed and was on the further end of her seat, away from Merlin.

 

Finally mustering up the courage, Merlin forced out a mumbled, “Mithian…” and stopped at that. 

 

“It’s alright, Merlin.” She said, not unkindly. “I know what’s going on.”

 

Skepticism, as well as a hint of fear, filled Merlin. There was no way. She couldn’t have known what was going on. 

 

He forced a curious look. “You do?”

 

She hummed and nodded. “Look, Arthur is a lot to take sometimes. But I really like him, Merlin.  I really do. I know he makes fun of you constantly, but it’s all in good fun.”

 

Merlin shook his head. “Mithian-”

 

“You just can’t be too sensitive around him. He’s really quite lovely underneath it all, Merlin.”

 

Anger flared up in Merlin’s chest. He _knew_ what Arthur was like behind that facade of arrogance. He fucking _told_ Mithian what he was like. She needn’t preach to him about something he was well versed in. Arthur was _Merlin’s_ friend (sort of) first. Merlin had been in Arthur’s life _way_ longer than Mithian had. 

 

Merlin huffed. “Look, Mithian-”

 

“I just thought maybe you could make an _effort_ to like him.”

 

Oh for fuck’s sake. 

 

“And if you can’t even do that, then at least _pretend._ ” 

 

The “I AM PRETENDING” nearly flew out of his mouth to attack Mithian with the irony. But he clamped his mouth shut and let out a breath, relinquishing some of the tension. 

 

She was looking at him like his mother would while scorning. Disappointed, earnest, and with the tiniest hint of desperation. Mithian didn’t like conflict. She was always a peace keeper. And Merlin, despite how much his pride was boiling over, simply had to swallow and acquiesce. 

 

He sighed reluctantly. “You’re right.” And it almost physically hurt him to say that. Because she was _not_ right. She was so far from right. “I’m sorry.”

 

A part of him was yelling at himself, crying out that he had absolutely _nothing_ to be sorry for. That _Mithian_ should be sorry for putting him through this hell with that annoyingly shy smile on her face. And for flaunting her fucking happiness all over the apartment and acting like a horny teenager, completely unable to keep it in her pants.

 

But this was Merlin. Merlin, who never wanted to see his friends get hurt. Merlin, who was always so willing to please. And Mithian was his friend; he wouldn’t hurt her. No matter how much it hurt him. 

 

She offered him a smile of acceptance and uncrossed her arms. A sign of forgiveness, he supposed. She chatted idly for the rest of the class while Merlin sat there, no longer paying attention to anything but the slow thumping of his heart.

 

* * *

  

At the end of the week, Merlin entered the flat and found Mithian and Arthur curled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

 

He tried to sneak by them without being noticed, but Mithian caught him. 

 

“Merlin!” She called jovially. “Come join us!”

 

Even the thought of that sent a wave of dread through him.

 

Making a face, Merlin shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I’ve seen that movie dozens of times.”

 

Which wasn’t a lie. Because he had. He normally wouldn’t be opposed to watching it again, though. But he felt too heavy with exhaustion. He didn’t want to socialize. 

 

Mithian paused the movie and sat up. She quirked her eyebrow, almost like a warning. She was good at those underlying threats. She had told him to pretend to like Arthur. To make an effort. And she was giving him the chance to do it.

 

“Please, Merlin?” Mithian asked. She flashed her puppy eyes in good humour. “I haven’t seen you in _weeks._ ”

 

“That…” Merlin glimpsed over to Arthur briefly. “That’s not true.” A weak protest, and it fizzled in the air before dying. 

 

“Come on, Merlin!” Mithian beckoned. “You’ve been holed up in your room ever since I moved in,-”

 

At this, Arthur frowned and looked quizzically at Merlin. Because even though they weren’t close, Arthur _knew_ Merlin wasn’t one for isolation. He had complained to Arthur multiple times about Gwen’s constant studying and how lonely he felt. He hated the separation and detachment. He hated how alone he became when she was cooped up in her room, studying hard while Merlin had no one to talk to. 

 

Of course, he’d made an effort to talk to Arthur and extract some form of sympathy from him. But when he complained about Gwen’s studious behaviour, Arthur had just told Merlin what a girl he was being. To get over it. 

 

Yet another failed attempt to get Arthur to like him. To at least _talk_ to him like an equal. 

 

But Arthur _knew_ that small part of Merlin. How much he hated being alone. Of course, he’d never understand how alone he felt at that moment, standing there naked and cornered in front of the two people he loathed and yearned for the most. 

 

The puzzled look he got almost made him hyperventilate. He made an effort to ignore Arthur and continue listening to Mithian.

 

“-so I’m demanding you join us!”

 

She sounded light hearted and childish. But he knew the repercussions if he rejected her invitation. 

 

Reluctantly, Merlin shuffled his feet over to them and sat on the far side of the couch. 

 

The movie was Disney’s “Tangled”. His absolute favourite. Rapunzel was his love. If he were straight, he’d marry her. She was bold, daring, beautiful, and willing to make actions of her dreams. He envied her. 

 

Merlin was surprised that Arthur agreed to watch the movie with Mithian. Although he knew Arthur loved these types of movies, he never expected him to show that side to Mithian so quickly. It made Merlin feel like an intruder. An outsider. And he _hated_ that feeling. 

 

He was nearly a sobbing mess near the end as the line, “you were my new dream” was uttered. He would’ve actually collapsed into a fit of ugly heaving sobs if Arthur wasn’t there. 

 

Regardless of his attempts, he couldn’t help but sniffle. Arthur swiveled his head to the source of the noise. “Oh please,” he said, clearly unimpressed. “It’s just a _movie,_ Merlin.”

 

“Shut up,” Merlin whinged. “They’re perfect for each other!”

 

“You’re such a girl’s petticoat.” Arthur scoffed, condescension lacing his words. 

 

Merlin hunched his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. He glared petulantly at Arthur for a moment before he returned his attention to the movie. But after that, even when the Happily Ever After was uttered softly, his mood hadn’t improved. 

 

He didn’t _want_ to be there in the first place. He shouldn’t have had to sit there and let Arthur spoil his (somewhat) fine mood. Mithian’s words earlier, echoing in his brain, were what made him sit and endure what _should’ve_ been a nice movie.

 

Last month he would’ve retaliated with his own share of insults. But now, as a result of Arthur’s relationship, Merlin couldn’t muster up the courage for a counterattack. 

 

He brewed silently instead. 

 

Mithian excused herself to the loo and as she left, Merlin could feel the stare penetrate his deliberate ignorance of Arthur’s presence. He exhaled loudly and met Arthur’s gaze. “What?” He snapped. 

 

“Nothing,” Arthur said, raising his hands in truce. “I just can’t tell if it’s touching or pathetic that you’re so moved by pixelation.”

 

“Don’t act like you don’t cry at the end of movies.” Merlin retorted haughtily. 

 

“I certainly do not.”

 

 _“You certainly do too.”_ Merlin said, imitating Arthur like a twelve year old. “I know it.”

 

Arthur sneered a little, not buying Merlin’s shit. “Oh really? Tell me, _Mer_ lin. What movie could _possibly_ turn me into a sobbing girl like yourself?”

 

“The Lion King.”

 

And Arthur stopped, stunted. 

 

From there, the words just poured out. Cast out of him before Merlin had a chance to reel them back in. 

 

“It’s your favourite movie. You always well up when Mufasa dies.” Like the situation turned fragile, Merlin softened his voice. “You cry during Wall-E too, but not as much as you do in The Lion King.”

 

Arthur remained frozen. Merlin screwed up his face and exaggerated a shrug, trying to make the situation seem not as creepy as it probably was. 

 

Silence stretched for a few stunned seconds. Merlin’s headache, somehow floating in the background for the last few days, returned, intensified. Yet another sign he was not sleeping enough. 

 

Arthur’s eyes were narrowed and slightly accusing. “How do you know that?”

 

Merlin bit his lip. He shrugged again and rubbed his neck. “I don’t know? You probably mentioned it to me-”

 

“No. I didn’t.” Arthur cut in with such certainty and ferocity that Merlin felt like prey set in Arthur’s predatory sights. “I _wouldn’t.”_

 

The “especially to _you”_ remained unsaid. It didn’t have to be said. Merlin felt it hover above him mockingly. 

 

Feigning a memory recollection, Merlin shrugged a third time. “Then, I guess, I’ve probably seen you watching it? In the library. Sort of in the back where you think no one can see.”

 

He knew he basically admitted to stalking Arthur, so he wasn’t surprised when a funny look passed over his face. Like his privacy had been invaded. Merlin never intended to push Arthur into a cage. 

 

Arthur was still looking at him, perplexed and speechless. Merlin wasn’t sure if he had creeped him out or just surprised him, but he hoped for the latter. 

 

Before anymore words had the chance to be exchanged, Mithian came back from the bathroom and plopped down next to Arthur. She rested her head on his shoulder and Merlin’s insides burned. Arthur, nonplussed, dragged his gaze away from Merlin’s face and returned his attention to the ongoing credits. 

 

Feeling out of place, Merlin bid his farewells and offered a light smile to Mithian. She looked thankful and pleased. She wished him goodnight. 

 

He closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, suddenly out of breath. 

 

“Are you alright?” He heard Mithian ask. 

 

“Yeah.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes. Fine.”

 

* * *

  

After Merlin’s inadvertent admission of his stalkerish ways, he avoided Arthur as much as he could. If ever Arthur was over at his flat with Mithian, he’d bustle in through the door and hurry to his room without so much as a hello. If Arthur was there in the _morning,_ Merlin would bustle out his bedroom door and hurry outside without so much as a goodbye.

 

Mithian’s annoyance with him had flared up again, but Merlin was so tired that he couldn’t really care anymore. He just stared at her aggravation with a face of neutrality and then turned his back to her. 

 

Gwen had started to notice his odd behaviour and tried to coddle him as much as possible. Bless her, truly, but Merlin didn’t really want to be around anyone anymore.

 

She tried to inquire about his sudden thin stature, and also about his sunken in eyes, but Merlin was the Master of Avoidance by then. He somehow managed to find a way to side step her questions and excuse himself. He could see her frustration building as the days went by.

 

 

After a week, though, she forcefully took him aside. She sort of pounced on him, actually. That woman was abnormally strong for her size. 

 

“Is everything alright?” She asked gently. “You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

 

Merlin, still heaving from his attempt at wrestling her, fumbled with a piece of thread sticking out his sweater and bobbed his head up and down. 

 

“You know you’re rubbish at lying,” Gwen remarked. There was a teasing subtext to that comment, almost as if she were recalling fond memories of his poor efforts at manipulation in the past. She tutted softly and leaned forward, resting her hand on his thigh. “I wish you’d talk to me, Merlin.”

 

Merlin sighed. “It’s really nothing, Gwen. Just…” He chose his words carefully. “I’m just being silly.”

 

“Nonsense,” Gwen scoffed lightly. She turned serious, catching his eyes by dipping her head to find them. “Your mother called me. So did Will. They’re both worried about you.”

 

Merlin felt his insides contract. “Oh…” He breathed.

 

“You haven’t talked to them in weeks.”

 

“I’ve just been studying, s’all.” 

  
Which was another lie Gwen called on, because, “Merlin I’m in almost all your classes. If _you_ were studying this hard, _I’d_ be studying harder.” 

 

Comedic relief. They both needed that. She didn’t press the matter though. When he excused himself, she sent him to his room with a large plate of dinner. And an hour later, she brought him some tea and painkillers. He thanked her, voice thick with appreciation. 

 

* * *

  
Merlin received an emergency text from Arthur the next morning. Not about studying, but needing his help. Which was odd, because Arthur rarely talked to him about anything other than how helpless Merlin was and how much he hated Shakespeare. 

 

It was childish, but Merlin suddenly felt like an insider. Part of the “cool” crowd that had teased Merlin throughout his pre-uni days. He liked being the person Arthur turned to for help. It made him feel special, and even more so since Arthur always seemed like a closed book. 

 

And he was even more relieved that Arthur didn’t seem to be freaked out by Merlin anymore. It had been a week since they had talked, though. Merlin had hoped that his absence would give him time to forget about the events of the movie night. And he also didn’t want to see him because seeing him would make Merlin want to keel over. 

 

Arthur had invited Merlin to dinner. 

 

Merlin sort of choked on his own spit and reminded himself that it was obviously not a date. He wasn’t even sure if Arthur knew he was gay. Nevertheless. It was _not_ a date. He was to help Arthur with a problem. It would be best if Merlin continuously reminded himself of that. 

 

But then, a few minutes after Merlin replied, Arthur sent another text. 

 

“Don’t tell Mithian.”

 

Excitement and guilt hit him all at once. He wasn’t sure _what_ to think. That didn’t qualify it as a date, surely, but why would Arthur want to meet with him and not tell his girlfriend if they were to have a simple, platonic dinner?

 

Merlin couldn’t stop himself from relishing in the feeling, though, hope burning in his chest.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

 

When the time came to meet Arthur, Merlin walked out his flat, trying to be so inconspicuous he was conspicuous.

 

Arthur was outside his building, hands in his pockets and hair windswept. Merlin offered a sheepish smile and fell into step with him. 

 

“I thought we could go to the pub.” Arthur said, glancing at his watch. 

 

Merlin nodded. _Cannibalism_ could’ve been recommended and Merlin would _still_ be one hundred percent okay with that if Arthur was with him. 

 

Their idle chat soon turned to playful banter, the routine a warm comfort. Merlin found himself laughing and smiling a lot more than he had in the past few weeks. He felt refreshed, light. Arthur seemed to be enjoying himself too. 

 

It felt so _natural_. 

 

So he tried not to think of the oblivious Mithian he left behind.  

 

They entered the pub and rubbed their hands together for warmth. Arthur chose a table slightly away from the rest of the customers.  

 

A cute waitress approached them and they ordered. It was silent for a few awkward moments before Arthur cleared his throat.

 

“I was thinking of studying again tomorrow before class. Care to join me?”

 

Merlin felt relief wash over him. Surely if Arthur was still creeped out by him, he wouldn’t have asked Merlin to study with him. Maybe he had gotten over it, or hadn’t thought him creepy at all. 

 

He offered a grin and drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

 

And just like that, the tension was gone and Merlin visibly relaxed. 

 

Shortly after, their food arrived. Arthur didn’t hesitate to dive right in and practically inhale his dinner. Merlin watched him in his periphery while he pushed his food around with his fork. Arthur’s Adam’s Apple would bob at every swallow and it made Merlin wonder if Arthur would swallow Merlin whole or take him shallowly and torturously. 

 

Oh God. Stop.

 

Merlin cleared his throat expectantly. “Arthur,”

 

With only a hum as a response, Merlin placed his fork on his plate. “Are you going to tell me what you need help with? Or am I to sit here and observe your poor table manners?” 

 

Arthur raised his eyebrows, bemused. “My table manners,” he paused then, swallowing his mouthful loudly, “are flawless.” 

 

At the other’s doubtful look, he sat back to observe Merlin. 

 

“Alright. Even though I find you slightly irritating,” he grinned cheekily when Merlin made a face at him, “Mithian seems to have built up some sort of immunity to your idiocy. That, or she’s a wonderfully tolerant person.”

 

Trying to seem unfazed by the insult, Merlin nodded. Mithian. Of course. Oh God he was so _stupid_. 

 

“So,” Arthur twisted in his chair and pulled a long velvet box from his coat pocket. “As her best mate, I’m assuming you’re a little more familiar with her taste.”

 

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What did he think this would turn out to be, an American Drama show? Where Arthur would just come out of the closet and admit his impromptu homosexual love for Merlin all at once? Where Merlin would leap into his arms and Arthur would laugh heartily and shout his feelings from the rooftops? 

 

Life didn’t work like that. It was time Merlin heeded that and moved on.

 

He was glad he was sitting down because Merlin found himself feeling a lot weaker. Either gravity had pushed him down, or the small amount of strength he had left had fled.

 

The necklace was lovely. It was a simple pendant hanging on a simple chain. Nothing too extravagant. Beautiful in its subtlety. 

 

“It’s for her birthday this month,” Arthur explained, scrutinizing the necklace for what was probably the umpteenth time.

 

Merlin was a little shocked at that because he’d never known Arthur to provide gifts for his girlfriends. And so _soon._ Granted, Arthur had only had one serious girlfriend in their second year. But Vivian was high maintenance and Arthur found her difficult to please. 

 

So then... this meant that Arthur was truly falling for Mithian. 

 

Like, irrevocably and undoubtedly falling for her. 

 

 _Mithian,_ of all people. Annoyingly sweet, absurdly pretty, grotesquely desirable _Mithian._  

 

He realized that he had been silent for a while, and Arthur was looking at him impatiently. Merlin mustered a smile. “It’s brilliant,” he said. His voice wobbled. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

 

Arthur twisted his mouth approvingly before snapping the case shut. “I knew you weren’t completely useless.” He cuffed Merlin’s shoulder. “Thanks mate.”

 

All the air left Merlin’s lungs at that and his smile fell. He couldn’t seem to pick it back up. It just stayed flat, unhappy, and petulantly refused to move. “Happy to help.” 

 

He tried to sound sincere, but found he’d rather jam his fork in his hand instead of deal with this. At least the pain would’ve been temporary. But this… what Arthur was doing… was _never_ going to leave him. It would forever remain a constant. Arthur and Mithian. Mithian and Arthur.

 

Oh, and there’s Merlin. Just on the side line. Pay him no mind.

 

Tears blurred Merlin’s vision and he quickly bowed his head down to his food.

 

As Arthur returned to his dinner, Merlin’s hunger dissipated. 

 

He had to get out of there. The mortification was crushing his insides. A mantra, “stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,” took over every thought. He felt that everyone around him _knew_ what was going on, and they were laughing at him.

 

Pointing at him and whispering.

 

Meal left untouched, Merlin took out his phone and cursed softly. 

 

“That’s Gwen,” he lied. “She needs some help with one of our classes.”

 

Arthur frowned. “Now? You’ve barely eaten.”

 

Merlin stood up, nodding quickly as he blushed.  “I wasn’t really hungry.” 

 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him. “ _Mer_ lin-”

 

Panicking, Merlin took out his wallet and dropped 15 quid on the table. “Here,”

 

“No, it’s my treat.” Arthur said harshly. But it sounded like _“What the fuck is wrong with you?”_ in disguise. Camouflaged but ever so noticeable. 

 

“No, it’s fine. Thank you. Good luck with the, uh, necklace...birthday, thing.”

 

He made a hasty retreat to the streets and ran a hand through his hair. 

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He whispered.

 

That _necklace..._ It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Arthur _never_ did things like that. Arthur was closed, he wasn’t _allowed_ to do things like that. He wasn’t supposed to give his heart out. He wasn’t supposed to buy beautiful things for Mithian. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

 

Merlin had thought this would’ve been a few weeks. And Arthur would’ve parted ways with Mithian. Deemed her unworthy of his love. 

 

Because that was how it was; no one seemed worthy of Arthur. 

 

But a tiny part of him whispered into the cavernous chamber of his chest, “I could be.” 

 

And it echoed, and it bounced around and ricocheted off every fibre of his being. _I could be. I could be worthy of Arthur. I could, I really could. I want to be. I so fucking badly want to be. Please let me._  

 

And it grew louder and heavier and boomed around him as he shoved his way through the busy streets, not really knowing where he was going but knowing his feet would take him there. 

 

_I could be._

 

And even though this had _nothing_ to do with him, Merlin felt jilted. Left at the altar of what could be and what he wanted to be. 

 

_I could. I really could._

 

Which was ridiculous, he chided himself, because Arthur wouldn’t want him. 

 

_I want to be._

 

Arthur wasn’t even his _friend._ Not really. A study buddy. Barely even that. He was _nothing_ to Arthur. 

 

_Please let me._

 

He staggered to his flat. Merlin opened the door to find the place empty. Devoid of company. With a cry, Merlin slammed the door shut and stalked to his room. He collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to undress. 

 

The night ended, his embarrassment reverberating in his head.

 

* * *

  

The next morning Merlin felt more rested. His head was still foggy from the anxiety, and his eyes were still prickly from his tears. And the heavy lump in his stomach weighed him down as he sagged into another position to return to the blissful obliviousness of sleep.

 

But as he began dozing, his phone buzzed. 

 

It was Arthur. 

 

He was reminding Merlin about their study session. Merlin wanted to say no. No, absolutely not. I don’t feel well and I need my sleep.

 

But Merlin had already said yes last night. And had already told Arthur he was free. He had been dodging Arthur for over a week now (with the exception of the catastrophe of last night). And Arthur obviously wasn’t impressed with his behaviour yesterday. So, trying to seem casual, Merlin responded, saying he’d be there. 

 

He was almost disgusted with himself for being so passive around Arthur. For just accepting everything he’d been given because mere moments alone with him were special and it made him feel appreciated. He was letting how Arthur saw him define who he was. Which was wrong and pitiful, he knew. But he couldn’t get Arthur out of his head. After years of pining after him, he still couldn’t let go of him. 

 

And he wanted to. Only, he didn’t. 

 

He sighed as he slowly got out of bed. He was sickened by this endless pining. Merlin would’ve given anything to be free of Arthur’s chains. Anything. 

 

He showered languidly and mostly just stood there while the hot water hit his back. His attempts at actually washing his hair seemed like too difficult a task. But he didn’t want to have another greasy hair joke from Arthur. The last thing he needed was Arthur making him feel externally vile.  

 

So he showered (somewhat), shaved, and dressed in _clean_ clothes. When he emerged from the bathroom and made his way to the door, Gwen stopped him. 

 

“You’re eating breakfast.” She ordered. 

 

Merlin blinked. He realized that he did, in fact, have time for breakfast. But it had been so long since he’d actually _had_ it, he’d sort of… forgotten. 

 

He grinned and kissed her on the forehead. “What would I do without you?”

 

She looked thoughtful as she handed him an already prepared mug of tea and bowl of cereal. “Crash and burn.”

 

The rest of their breakfast passed in comfortable conversation. Merlin hadn’t realized just how much he had missed Gwen. They talked about her relationship with Lance, that one professor they both had that spat excessively, and the rest was shameless gossip. 

 

“I hear Morgana’s coming home soon!” Gwen gushed.

 

Merlin hummed in question.

 

“Her next photo shoot is really close to her flat here, so she’ll arrive by the end of the week.”

 

With a mouth full of cereal, Merlin grinned at her. 

 

“I can’t wait for her to meet Mithian; I’m sure Arthur’s looking forward to it.” 

 

And Merlin, suddenly feeling heavy, nodded mutely. He shoveled more food into his mouth.

 

Gwen continued. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.” 

 

At that, Merlin stopped chewing and felt the rest of his breakfast turn to ash in his stomach. He swallowed slowly and set his spoon down, no longer hungry. His chest began to ache. 

 

“Merlin? Is everything alright?”

 

She was watching him. And although she asked, Merlin saw the puzzle pieces fit together in her head. Devastation weighed him down as he saw the slow understanding and realization wash over Gwen. 

 

He forced out a smile, though. “Fine.” Never not fine. Always fine. 

 

When it was almost time to go meet Arthur, Merlin numbly cleared both their dishes. He could tell Gwen still wanted to say a lot to him, but she kept to herself, making her own deductions. He gave her a hug and a softly murmured “thank you” before opening the door. 

 

“Merlin,” Gwen called. She almost sounded hysterical. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “Mithian’s lucky to have you as her friend.”

 

Merlin swallowed thickly and nodded his thanks. He closed the door quickly behind him and walked to the library, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.  
 

* * *

  

When Merlin entered the library and found Arthur at a table, he was a little shocked to see the warm smile Arthur gave him. Almost as if he were awed. And clearly unaffected by last night. He sat across from Arthur and took out his books, flipping to the assigned page of Shakespearean sonnets. 

 

“You look a lot better.”

 

Merlin grinned halfheartedly and took out his pen. 

 

“You ate breakfast this morning, yeah?”

 

Sighing, Merlin nodded. He didn’t need to be coddled. He didn’t expect Arthur to take care of him. 

 

Arthur surveyed him with an approving nod. “Good. I’m pleased.”

 

The comforting silence that followed relaxed Merlin into better confidence. He recited the sonnets with ease and provided insight that was, surprisingly, helpful to Arthur. 

 

“I’m not sure I enjoy this sonnet,” Arthur commented as he scanned through one. “It seems too frivolous.”

 

Merlin looked up at him. “I don’t think you understand it then.”

 

“Condescension _not_ appreciated, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur scowled. 

 

“This sonnet is quite remarkable, Arthur. It’s a frustrated poem of someone he lusts after.” At Arthur’s eyebrow raise, Merlin sighed. “Look here,”

 

Arthur got up and walked around the table, sitting next to Merlin. He leaned in close to look at his notebook. 

 

_“ “To be so tickled they would change their state_

_And situation with those dancing chips,_

_O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,_

_Making dead wood more bless’d than living lips.” ”_

 

Merlin trailed off a little uncomfortably. “This, uhm.” He shifted away from Arthur. “This sonnet is actually quite suggestive. See, in the beginning he’s talking about watching someone play the keys of a virgina, like a harpsichord.”

 

Arthur looked at him like he was stupid. “I know what a virgina is.”

 

Merlin raised his hands in defense. “Alright, just checking. You’re a lot more rubbish at this than you let on.” 

 

He received a smack upside the head. Merlin grimaced and continued. “Later, though, he starts talking about how much he envies the keys. He dreams about being stroked by the fingers and how he’d love to transform his lips into wood and take place of the keys.” He swallowed. “In a way, he’s jealous of the keyboard and wants to be touched as much as, if not more than, the keys.” 

 

Arthur nodded, pulled his notebook from across the table, and jotted a few notes. He placed his pencil to his mouth thoughtfully. “Do we know if he’s talking about a male or female?”

 

Merlin shrugged. “Not sure. Some say he was straight, others say he wasn’t. Sonnet 18 is believed to be dedicated to a boy he might’ve loved but was willing to cast away for him to have a good life.”

 

Was it really that lessons in class had to pertain to lessons in life? Truly? Was that the way the universe worked around him? Merlin was supposed to just sit there and talk about Shakespeare in love with a man and setting him free despite the heartache, while he sat there and told _Arthur_ all this?

 

Bloody fucking hell, the irony. 

 

Arthur let out a thoughtful hum. “What do you think?”

 

Merlin stared at his profile. “About what?” And he shook his head stupidly when Arthur tapped impatiently at the sonnet. “Oh. Erm. I think, uhm. I think he was in love with this boy.”

 

Arthur turned his head to look at him. “Go on.”

 

Merlin swallowed loudly and flushed. “He was willing to let this boy go to make a better life for himself.” He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was running a marathon. “Going through that kind of pain for the one you love… sort of makes it…” He shrugged. “...immortal.” 

 

Arthur stared at him, something unreadable in his expression. Merlin started to stutter, feeling clichéd and ridiculous. “You know, uhm. They - they say, if you love something, set it free.”

 

He felt extremely exposed in front of Arthur. Like he was an open book and Arthur was reading, line for line, all his secrets. All his longings and desires and heartaches. 

 

Arthur was still looking at him, seeming troubled. Their faces were close. Really close. His heart rate increased and his palms felt sweaty. 

 

This moment of intimacy scared and thrilled Merlin. He’d never known Arthur to stare into another’s eyes and remain silent, like he was deciphering all of Life’s Knowledge in each iris.

 

Their close proximity, their heat being exchanged, and the silencing of breaths and increasing of hearts… made it seem almost amorous. 

 

And as Merlin told himself these things, hope bubbled up into his throat and rendered him speechless. He couldn’t say anything as they continued to stare at each other. 

 

Arthur seemed at a loss for words. Either that or he just felt like intensely gazing at Merlin to make him squirm in the silence. But at the slightest incline of Arthur’s head, Mithian’s face forced its way into Merlin’s mind and he reluctantly looked at his book. 

 

“Uhm,” he coughed and rubbed his neck. “I have to… to - uhm. Go to class.”

 

He stood abruptly, sending his chair skidding across the floor at another table, and, without sparing Arthur a second glance, grabbed his books and flew out the library.   
  
 

* * *

  

When Merlin got back to his flat, his heart sank when he saw Arthur on the couch with Mithian. They were both silently doing their homework. As Merlin entered, though, Arthur’s head shot up and their eyes met. 

 

Merlin held his gaze for a moment before Mithian noticed him and smiled. “Merlin! How was your day?”

 

He blinked rapidly for a moment and smiled back. He pulled off his coat and hung it up. “Great, Mith.”

 

“Did you and Arthur get through those sonnets?”

 

The knot in Merlin’s chest was pulled taught. He felt himself heating up as he nodded, noting how bored and unaffected Arthur looked. 

 

“Yeah.” Came his gruff reply. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, we did.”

 

Arthur let out a chuckle. “Merlin was even more useless than usual, but I muddled through.” 

 

“Arthur,” Mithian warned harshly. 

 

The silence became uncomfortable as Arthur’s “joke” hung in the air. No one was laughing. It was more cruel than humorous. 

 

Mithian semi-standing up for Merlin made him feel a little less guilty; she had mentioned that Arthur’s jibes were all in good fun. But lately, his words seemed sharper and angrier. And even Mithian wouldn’t let him speak to her best friend like that.

 

She shot him an apologetic look, but Merlin just stared at Arthur, his mouth slightly open in hurt and shock. 

 

Merlin should’ve laughed. Should’ve seen that one coming. It was to be expected by now, surely. But still. It stung more than it should’ve. A _lot_ more. 

 

His lungs collapsed as he berated himself. He should’ve figured. He, once again, misread what happened between them and made an idiot of himself. 

 

He almost laughed at his stupidity. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be _gay._ The whole idea was ludicrous. 

 

He felt embarrassed, too. Because now his actions and close proximity to Arthur seemed incongruous.

 

Mithian tried to diffuse the tension. “Do you want to join us?” 

 

If he hadn’t been so troubled, Merlin would’ve thanked her profusely for attempting to tame Arthur’s sudden callousness. 

 

He was still looking at Arthur, who seemed a little confused at the glare Merlin was giving him. Annoyance struck through him and he backed up. “No.” He said, a little too loudly. He spared Arthur one final glance. “No, I don’t.” And he grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut. 

 

Tears of self-ridicule burned his eyes as he walked out his building. Passers-by bumped into him and shoved passed him. Girls giggled around him while boys teased and laughed at each other. Despite everything, life was still going on. Merlin felt so stuck in this sick unrequited love triangle, but the world around him continued and left him behind. Never had he felt this small, this insignificant. 

 

Merlin swiped angrily at his eyes and a hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. “Merlin-”

 

Merlin contorted his face in aggression and tried to whip his arm free. “ _Don’t_ -”

 

But he looked up and saw Lance. Lance, whose expression was confused and taken aback at his outburst. 

 

Feeling guilty, Merlin released a breath. “Sorry,” he whispered. The grip on his arm gentled and soon the other one was being grasped. 

 

There wasn’t really anything else to say; Lance knew what was going on. So he guided Merlin to the café next door.

 

* * *

   

Lance exhaled loudly as Merlin took a sip of his coffee. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve done, Merlin.”

 

Merlin, not really paying attention, nodded. He saw, in his periphery, Lance lean forward in an attempt to catch his gaze. 

 

“Actually, it’s _honorable_ what you’ve done.”

 

Merlin rested his chin in his hand. “ _How_ is this honorable, exactly?”

 

Lance rested on his elbows, hands parallel and gesturing. “Most people would’ve seized all those opportunities you’ve had to sabotage their relationship. But you were honest with Mithian, and you’ve been a wonderful support for them.”

 

Merlin shrugged noncommittally and refused to say anything. 

 

“What’s better,” Lance continued, his voice quieter. “Is that when you thought Arthur was possibly going to make a move, _you_ backed up. That’s strong, Merlin. That’s _noble._ ” 

 

Another pregnant pause followed and Merlin sipped his coffee. 

 

“You’re being the bigger man,” Lance offered. 

 

Exasperated, Merlin slammed down his mug. “I don’t _feel_ like the bigger man, Lance. I’m stuck in my own home while those two are together and all I can think about is how much I wish Mithian wasn’t _here._ Does that sound noble to you?”

 

Lance softened. “Maybe not.” He reached out and placed his hands over Merlin’s. “But your actions prove otherwise.” Lance studied his face as Merlin deflated a little. “Arthur doesn’t give you half the credit you deserve. You’re more of a friend to him than any of us and he doesn’t even know it.” 

 

Merlin looked up at him, miserable. “He _can’t_ know.”

 

The door of the restaurant opened and in walked Gwen. Lance had, with Merlin’s permission, texted her their whereabouts. Merlin figured, since she had guessed his pitiful boy crush, that there was no harm. 

 

She quickly strode over to their table and sat beside Merlin, cooing over him and stroking his hair affectionately. 

 

Lancelot stood up and ordered Gwen’s drink for her, giving them some time to chat.

 

“Start from the beginning,” she offered. He looked at her as tears rushed up to embarrass him further. And, trying to hide, Merlin dropped his head on Gwen’s shoulder and sniffed.

 

And he told her.

 

He told her of the crush he’d been harboring for three and a half years. He explained how helpless he felt whenever Arthur was around. How awkward and stupid he became. He told her about Mithian coming to him asking him to tell her all about Arthur and how, desperate to please, he did.

 

He told her of the countless nights he had stayed awake, the sounds of their happiness boomeranging in his head. How simply _seeing_ them together made his stomach churn. And explained why he wasn’t ever hungry. He told her just how desperately he was trying to be a good friend to Mithian and Arthur.

 

Lance returned with Gwen’s drink in hand and joined the conversation silently. 

 

Merlin continued, talking about how he’d helped Arthur with the birthday gift for Mithian. And how he thought it was possibly a _date._ How masochistically _stupid_ he was. And he told them about the weird looks Arthur had been giving him the last few weeks. How Merlin had stupidly revealed to Arthur all the things he knew about him. And then, with frustrated tears, he admitted that no matter how much it hurt, he still would never be able to say no to Arthur. Even if those feelings were never returned. Even if Arthur hated him, Merlin would always welcome him with open arms and an open heart. 

 

“You should’ve told me it was this bad,” Gwen said softly. She pressed her lips to his hair as she stroked soothing lines up and down his back. “I never even imagined…”

 

“S’fine,” Merlin said. Almost automatically. That seemed to be his trademark. I’m fine. Truly I am. Just fine. 

 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t-”

 

“No, Gwen,” Merlin said gently. He jostled her a little. “I didn’t want you to know.”

 

She exhaled deeply, a trait she developed from being around Lance while contemplative. 

 

“What else happened?”

 

“… I don’t know.” 

 

And he didn’t. He was so worked up that he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. 

 

So Merlin closed his eyes and told them what he _thought_ had happened.

 

“God, I sounded so _stupid,_ talking about love like that.” He groaned. “I’ve never even _been_ in love.”

 

Gwen and Lance gave each other a look. 

 

“And the next thing I knew, after spewing out all that _rubbish,_ we were inches apart.” 

 

His head was off Gwen’s shoulder now, his elbows resting on the table. Hands on his head, he pulled at his hair. “I know it sounds like it was nothing. And it probably _was_ nothing. But, Gwen… you should’ve _seen_ how he was looking at me.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes. “It was like how you two look at each other.”

 

Lance and Gwen both exhaled deeply. They seemed at a loss. 

 

“Anyway,” Merlin croaked. “I don’t remember who leaned in. Might’ve been me. But then Mithian’s face was there, in my head, and obviously I couldn’t do anything.” He laughed humorlessly. “There probably wasn’t anything to _do._ I just misread his actions.”

 

“Merlin,” Gwen began. She gave Lance a look, like she was trying to send telepathic messages. “I don’t want to say anything that might hurt you _or_ Mithian. But Arthur… he’s…”

 

“He doesn’t do things like that with just anyone.” Lance finished. 

 

“So?” Merlin mumbled. 

 

When the two didn’t respond he dropped his hands loudly on the table. “Look, you guys. This is _me_ we’re talking about. I’m not someone who could change Arthur Pendragon’s sexual preference, fuck’s sake. I mean, _look_ at me!”

 

“Merlin!” The two chastised. 

 

“You don’t even realize how wonderful you are.” Gwen wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. 

 

“You need to give yourself more credit,” Lance interjected. “And you need to give Arthur more credit than that. You’re not nothing to him.”

 

Devil’s Advocate Lancelot. Mediator Extraordinaire. 

 

The door opened with a bang and Gwaine and Leon entered, loud in their greeting. 

 

They strode over and obnoxiously pulled up two chairs, clapping Merlin and Lance on the back as they sat. 

 

“Saw you three from the pub,” Leon said, grinning. “Thought we’d say hi.”

 

Gwaine turned to Merlin, his slight smile falling. “You alright, mate?”

 

Merlin felt Gwen tighten her hold on him almost protectively. And it seemed like Lance was berating himself for picking such an obvious place to talk. He felt touched.

 

“I’m fine, thanks.” Merlin answered. “Just not feeling well.”

 

He found his excuses were either “I’m tired” or “I’m not feeling well” on alternating days. The frowns he got proved that he needed to invent better ones. A plethora of excuses would’ve been nice. 

  

Gwaine slung an arm over his shoulders (effectively removing Gwen’s), jostling him around good-naturedly. “How about we all engage in a nice five way? We could call Arthur and Mithian and make it a seven.”

 

It was a joke, obviously. But it still made Merlin feel sick. He heaved in a breath and stood up. “You know what, I’m just going to go home and sleep this off.”

 

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, mate! You could just watch.” Gwaine humorously tried to reason as Merlin grabbed his coat.

 

Gwen was beginning to stand up as Merlin trudged away. “Merlin-”

 

But he couldn’t hear her anymore when the door slammed behind him, aggressive in its finality. 

 

* * *

  

Well past midnight, Merlin arrived at his flat quietly, steps labored. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, noticing that Arthur’s coat was still there. So Arthur was sleeping over, then. Again. 

 

Sighing, Merlin entered his room and closed the door behind him. He stripped to his boxers and, with a dramatic huff, collapsed on his bed. He hoped sleep would come easily to him this time. If only for a few hours, he hoped this feeling could be carried away with his consciousness.

 

Instead of thinking about Arthur and Mithian, he thought about Lance and Gwen; how much they cared for him and wished him well. Merlin couldn't believe he'd been shutting them out when all he had to do was reach out a hand. And they would've been there, grasping and never letting go. Pulling him up and carrying him until he was well enough to do so.

 

He tried not to think about how sooner he should've done that.

 

Because for  _weeks_ he had felt so alone, but there the two of them were. 

 

And Will. And his mum.  

 

And as he felt the coziness of slumber descend, Merlin vowed he would call them the next day and make it right.

 

But then a noise roused him. 

 

A hitched moan.

 

And then, “Arthur-oh...”

 

Oh God.

 

No. No no. Please _no._

 

Merlin’s stomach plummeted and he squeezed his eyes tighter, somehow hoping that would block them out. Block out the monsters and help him forget the ongoings next door. 

 

“…‘thurrr…” He heard Mithian purr. 

 

A shudder of dread jerked Merlin’s body and he crumpled up his bedsheets, pressing them to his mouth. He dared not make a sound. He was sure if his hands weren’t there to stifle him, his cries would be heard throughout the entire flat. 

 

Mithian was moaning softly and gasping periodically. Merlin’s eyes burned when he thought of what Arthur was doing to her. Wondered where his lips were; if they were tasting her or kissing her or biting her…

 

He wondered what Arthur’s lips would look like, stretched around his own cock. How deep he could take him. If he’d lap up Merlin’s fluids as if parched. 

 

Stop. 

 

Stop this, _please._  

 

Mithian breathed out a whimper. 

 

He could imagine him; stroking her breasts or sucking at her neck; ravishing her entire body with his lips as she arched into him, releasing those wretched noises. 

 

Merlin could hear Arthur’s breathing increase, heavier with lust and short with ecstasy. 

 

“Mithi-nng…” 

 

And, embarrassed and shamed, Merlin’s blood travelled south and filled his cock. He couldn’t help himself; he kept erasing Mithian from the scenario and replacing her with himself. The thought of Arthur’s hands caressing and softly pinching. The thought of Arthur gazing up at him from his position at Merlin’s cock. The thought of-

 

Arthur made another noise, almost like a vulnerable whimper, and Merlin’s cock twitched painfully. Merlin swallowed and slapped a hand over his eyes as they brimmed with tears.

 

When Arthur groaned loudly, Merlin lost control and slid his hand down his stomach. He hesitated, then, just at the elastic of his shorts. He shouldn’t do it. It was wrong. It was an intimate moment he was intruding on. How could he taint it with his shameful desires?

 

Mithian squeaked. He pictured Arthur thrusting into her harshly, then, and pushing that squeal out of her. 

 

When Arthur moaned lowly, Merlin finally took himself in hand. He felt sick with arousal and disgusted with himself. The contradiction of pain and pleasure all at once rushed through him. He was ashamed of himself. Of his lack of control. Of his inability to just _let this go._  

 

He set his rhythm to follow that of Arthur’s thrusts in and out of Mithian. He stroked himself and turned his head away, refusing to acknowledge it was him doing this. Refusing to acknowledge that for Merlin, this was all it would ever be.  

 

Instead he rolled his eyes to the back of his head as Arthur became tangible. And there was no Mithian. 

 

_He pictured Arthur’s tongue wickedly running over his cleft, his sensitive flesh, and up his cock. He would swirl his tongue around the head and Merlin would moan loudly and push up, desperate to thrust into Arthur’s mouth. His beautiful, luscious mouth. But Arthur would place his hands on Merlin’s hips and forbid him from moving._

 

(“Oh, _oh,_ yesssss…”)

 

 _And Arthur would remove his tongue, leaving Merlin cold and sensitive. But then, all at once, Arthur would come back and swallow him whole. Merlin would choke on his own arousal and the happiness of being_ Arthur’s. _And just as his climax would crest, Arthur would withdraw and smirk at Merlin’s whine of protest. He’d watch Arthur move languidly up Merlin’s body and press their bodies together, purposely rubbing their cocks against each other._

 

(The bed’s creaking reached impossible decibels)

 

_And then Merlin would wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist and tighten his grip. He’d pull Arthur down hard and find that sensitive spot on his neck and bite and suck and kiss and lick until Arthur was a shuddering mess. He would roll them over so he would straddle Arthur. And Arthur would look at him with surprise; impressed at Merlin’s dominance. And Merlin would shimmy down Arthur’s body until their cocks were alined. He’d lick his hand and relish at Arthur’s responding moan. And then he’d grab both their cocks and rock into his hand, sliding against Arthur oh so deliciously._

 

(“Arthur- Arthur _please-_ don’t st-ohh...")

 

_And Arthur would slam his head back against the pillow and arch into Merlin’s hand. And as both of them would fuck on the cusp of their release, Arthur would grab Merlin’s waist and flip them over once more. And Merlin wouldn’t mind. Because Arthur would be gentle but predatory._

 

(“Oh-mmmm...”)

 

_Arthur would grab Merlin’s ankle and place it on his shoulder. He’d lean forward and suck on his fingers before slipping them down to Merlin’s hole. And he’d fuck Merlin open and brush teasingly against his prostate; a promise of what would come. And there’d be a moment of stop. A moment of alinement and mutual trust that swelled the chest. And Arthur’s hands would box Merlin in and he’d shift forward and enter._

 

(Merlin’s hand increased and the tears overflowed)

 

_Arthur would roll his hips into Merlin and stare down at him the way he stared at Mithian. Arthur would slow the pace for just a moment to lean down and take Merlin’s nipple in his mouth and flick his tongue over it._

 

(Mithian gasped and the slap of skin on skin became louder)

 

_And Merlin would gasp and writhe and tangle his hands through Arthur’s hair. He would thrust his hips up to meet Arthur’s sharply and he’d feel his cock twitch at the sound of Arthur’s shocked moan. And Arthur would drone out his name, long and wonderful and everlasting._

 

(Arthur groaned again and grit out her name)

 

_Arthur’s arms would grip Merlin’s thighs tightly and hook under his knees. He’d pull Merlin closer, roughly, and sink in deeper and Merlin would thrash as stars would explode in his eyes._

 

(“Me-thian...”)

 

_Merlin’s hands would run all over Arthur’s body and map every contour and line and divot. He would skate his fingers over Arthur’s nipples and relish in the receiving growl. And as their arousal  would grow, Arthur would pump faster and harder into him._

 

(Mithian’s incessant “yeses” filled the room as she approached her peak) 

 

_And then… as their release would rise together, Merlin would pull Arthur down and look into his eyes. To remember his pupils blown wide and to watch the blue darken and become primal. And they’d stare at each other as Arthur’s hand would grip Merlin’s cock and move, succulently matching pace._

 

(Mithian cried out Arthur’s name as she came, sobbing)

 

 _They’d refuse to look away as Arthur’s final thrusts would send them over the edge, crying each others’ names and promising the hidden delights of forever._  

 

(Arthur came loudly; a cut off moan reverberating through Merlin)

 

And Merlin came with him, a fist pressed to his mouth as tears slipped down his face, thrusting blindly into his hand, desperately wishing it was Arthur’s.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Shakespeare translations are my own; Shakespeare is always open to interpretation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

Merlin awoke groggily the next morning, his chest heavy. He knew it wasn’t late; Mithian’s morning coffee was brewing and its stench was wafting into his room. 

 

The bags beneath his eyes only added to his wonderfully gaunt veneer. He rolled out of bed, his body stiff and sore for no reason, and tried to ignore the newly painted stain on his duvet. 

 

He picked up a shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. Too tired to put on pants, Merlin trudged to the kitchen, clad only in his shirt and boxers. 

 

Mithian was leaning against the kitchen counter, a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her small hands. She looked surprised when Merlin came out. 

 

He grumbled something of a “morning” to her, but it was muffled. He hoped she would chalk it up to him not being a morning person. 

 

“Merlin.” Looking embarrassed, Mithian set her mug down. “I thought… Gwen said she was spending last night with you and Lance. I didn’t think-”

 

“S’alright.” And Merlin opened the fridge and stood there, dazed. He stared at the shelves for a while, not really sure what he was looking for and not really sure how he could possibly even think of eating.

 

After a moment, Mithian placed her hand on his shoulder. Merlin jumped and whirled around to face her, suddenly remembering that he wasn’t alone.

 

“I’m sorry about last night.” She said, looking forlorn. 

 

Merlin shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine.” Really. It’s fine. Always. “You didn’t know I was home-”

 

“No,” Mithian interrupted. “I mean about what Arthur said.” She stepped closer and hugged him loosely. “That wasn’t fair.”

 

Unsure of what to do, Merlin patted her back for a moment. “It’s alright. He always says things like that.”

 

He felt Mithian shake her head, about to protest his nonchalance, but Arthur stepped into the kitchen and paused. He looked almost startled upon seeing Merlin there. 

 

Mithian completely forgotten, the two stared at each other. Arthur's expression nonplussed and Merlin's deliberately vacant.

 

He extricated himself from Mithian gently with an “excuse me,”. When he reached his room and closed his door, he heard Mithian hiss, “I told you you went too far.”

 

* * *

  

Mithian was to meet Morgana at the end of the week. Her arrival sort of became an event to celebrate, so Leon, Gwaine, Arthur, Mithian, Lance, Gwen, Elyan, and Merlin all piled into a pub and pushed as many tables as they could together. 

 

Never without the dramatic entrance, Morgana practically _floated_ in, her tasteful high heels’ clicks announcing her arrival. 

 

From there it was a whole mess of yelling and cheering. Morgana made her rounds, saving her brother and his girlfriend for last. Merlin noticed how nervous Mithian was and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Morgana was intimidating in all her glorious confidence. And she wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Merlin was sure Gwaine had told Mithian the tales of Morgana’s wrath. 

 

But Arthur was there next to her, his arm a reassuring blanket around her shoulders. Arthur’s eyes barely left Merlin’s face, and he felt it. All throughout, actually, Merlin could tell Arthur was watching him. And it set him on edge. 

 

Gwen was sitting next to Merlin, refusing to leave his side all day. 

 

She placed her hand on his and squeezed. He turned to her and she offered a light smile. “Alright?”

 

He weakly returned it. 

 

“Merlin!” Morgana squealed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. 

 

Merlin had found out that Morgana had a soft spot for him a while ago; he had seen her kick some bloke in his happy place after a rather homophobic remark was tossed his way. Merlin was sure that if he were straight, he’d fawn over Morgana. Not her brother. 

 

Merlin smiled and gripped her tight. “Morgana! You look stunning.” 

 

She pulled back with a knowing grin. She gave him a once over before frowning. “You look horrible.”

 

It was true. And even he couldn’t deny it. All of this stress had rendered him zombie-like. 

 

But still: ouch. “Erm, thanks, I guess?”

 

Morgana gave him a sympathizing smile. “Poor dear,” she cooed. 

 

She set her sights on her brother and smiled coyly at him. “Dearest little brother,” she said predatorily. With a wink at Merlin, she walked over to him.

 

Arthur looked annoyed, the way siblings do during playful banter. He wasn’t hiding his smile very well, which Merlin thought endearing. The two of them spoke in hushed tones while they hugged. They always did that, as if top secret information was being exchanged. Whenever that happened, Merlin felt as though he were a child gazing longingly up at grownups he idolized. He felt small, unimportant; insignificant. 

 

That was sort of the Pendragon Effect. 

 

They pulled away and Arthur proudly introduced Mithian. The two women shook hands, Morgana’s a firm hold and Mithian’s a flouncy one. She was nearly petrified. He saw Morgana give her the once over before Gwaine tried to steal Merlin’s beer, effectively distracting him. 

 

The rest of the night was pretty much uneventful. As the crew slowly got more and more intoxicated, their words and actions grew languid. 

 

Gwen eventually left Merlin’s side to talk to Morgana, face determined. He saw them speak seriously for a while, Gwen gesturing lightly and Morgana knitting her eyebrows together and nodding. They looked over at Merlin once or twice and he immediately felt like prey. 

 

Mithian and Arthur were chatting pleasantly with everyone, practically glued together at the hip. Merlin couldn’t tell who was leading whom. 

 

Gwaine managed to busy Merlin for a while as he stumbled over himself. Merlin had found his friend dancing to the beat of no drum and appointed himself to the task of sobering him up. 

 

As the two sat at the bar, with Merlin forcing water down Gwaine’s throat, they people watched. 

 

Gwaine smacked his lips together with dramatic satiation. He pointed vaguely to a bloke sitting at a table with his friends, laughing. 

 

“Y’see that mountain uva guy?”

 

Merlin hummed. 

 

“Name’s Percival. I like him.”

 

“Good for you, Gwaine.” Merlin said.

 

“Nononononooo...” His friend cocked his head to meet Merlin’s face, his breath pungent. “Good for _youuu._ ” 

 

Merlin let out an incredulous laugh. “Me?”

 

“C’mon Merrr,” Gwaine purred. “He’s purdy. You’re purdy.”

 

“And _you’re_ drunk,” Merlin patted him on the shoulder. “I’m alright, Gwaine. Thanks though.”

 

“But Merrrrrr,” complained Gwaine. He flopped over to lean his hip against the bar and pushed his chest into Merlin’s shoulder. “He said you’re purdy. I heard’m.”

 

Merlin chuckled. “Yeah? You sure?”

 

“Everyone thinks you're purdy. _I_ think you’re purdy. _Morgana_ thinks you’re purdy. _Gwen_ thinks you’re purdy,” he counted off his fingers before flicking them in conclusion. “Even _Arthur_ thinks you’re purdy.”

 

Merlin gaped at him, trying to figure out if that was a joke. “What? No he doesn’t.”

 

Gwaine let out a loud “PFFFT” and nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ch’yeah okeey.” 

 

Merlin frowned, then, as a war erupted in his brain. Gwaine plopped his head on Merlin’s shoulder and giggled. 

 

“You dun know, Mer, but you’re fuckin’ hot. Y’should, y’know, own it.”

 

Gwaine pressed up against Merlin even more and whispered, “listen to Gwaine... Okay?”

 

Merlin’s heart pumped so loudly it almost echoed throughout his ribcage. “Yeah, okay.”

 

“So-so. Go. To Percival. Go ‘n fuck’m.”

 

“Thanks, Gwaine.” Merlin said as he steadied his friend. “But I’m not in the mood.”

 

“ _Whaaat?”_ Gwaine slurred. “M’ _always_ in the mood. C’moooon.”

 

Merlin just shook his head. “Just give him my number instead, yeah?” He joked. 

 

His friend mumbled something like “your loss” and made his way over to Elyan for drunk banter. Theirs was usually the most entertaining. 

 

As the hours changed from late to early, the team trickled home. Their impending hangovers were tossed in the air as they staggered away, laughing and not giving a damn. It was the weekend, so Saturday could be spent in bed. 

 

Gwen and Lancelot had retired as well, offering a wave as they tried to get to Merlin through the crowd of their overly affectionate friends. They couldn’t really bulldoze their way through the barricade of people, so Merlin just laughed and lifted his hand in farewell.

 

Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned around. Morgana was there, her hair slightly mussed but all the same, still radiant. 

 

“Having a good time?” He asked.

 

Morgana sat at the barstool next to him and smiled. “Of course.”

 

“Must be great to be back. Everyone really missed you.” 

 

She flicked her hair to the side and sighed dramatically. “Yes, well, one must always have time for the little people despite the fashion shows that busy her.” 

 

Merlin giggled at her theatrics. 

 

Gripping his drink in hand, he raised it to his mouth to take a sip. But he stopped short when he saw Arthur and Mithian. Inhibitions probably discarded, the two were sitting at a booth, tangled in each other and paying no mind to people around them.

 

His smile flickered briefly before he quickly returned his attention to Morgana. She raised an eyebrow and turned around to the direction Merlin was looking in. She hummed knowingly. 

 

“I see you’ve met Mithian.” Merlin commented, hoping to steer the conversation away from his obvious pining. 

 

Morgana twisted back to face him. “I don’t like her.”

 

Merlin gaped. “Morgana-”

 

“No. I don’t like her. She’s not right for him.”

 

Sighing, Merlin, the masochist he was, looked in the couple’s direction again. 

 

“ _You’re_ right for him.”

 

Merlin stared at her, mouth unhinged in question. That wasn’t funny. He hoped she knew that. Upon further speculation, however, he noticed her face held no humour. It remained serious and merciless. 

 

“Morgana, what’re you-”

 

“Don’t, Merlin.” Obstinate as ever, he remarked. She was silent for a moment, uncharacteristically hesitant. Her serious expression turned soft and she inched forward in her stool. “Gwen told me you’ve been unwell,” she said, her voice soothing. Merlin swallowed inaudibly before biting his lip. She placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. She studied his face. His almost translucent skin, his bruised eyes, his cheekbones’ unhealthy prominence. “She says you haven’t been sleeping.”

 

His eyes dropped down to his lap. He licked his lips before murmuring, “not really.”

 

Morgana exhaled in sympathy, her posture slumping a little. “And you haven’t been eating, have you?”

 

Again, ashamed, he shook his head. “No.”

 

“Merlin…” Morgana’s hand slid down to grip his shoulder and squeeze. Another pregnant pause followed. “It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” She spoke tentatively, like she was approaching a wounded animal. When Merlin offered a watery smile, Morgana shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what this must be like.”

 

And with what seemed to be his new trademark move, Merlin shrugged. “It’s not-”

 

But again, he was interrupted. “Don’t you lie to me, Merlin Emrys.” 

 

He was touched, truly. Morgana was a mother lioness and he was her cub. Her fierceness tamed those around her and she cleared a pathway for him to safely traverse. 

 

Merlin bit down on his lip so hard that this time he drew blood. He winced as the metallic liquid flowed lightly onto his tongue. 

 

“It’s…” He drew the “s” out, unsure of what to say. “...not a situation I’m overly fond of.”

 

Morgana pursed her lips and dropped her hand. “Merlin, you’re withering away to practically nothing. You’re going to burn yourself out.”

 

“I _know.”_ He said harshly. He _knew_ how unhealthy he was being. He’d been told by Gwen and Lance repeatedly. He _knew._ It wasn’t deliberate. He just wasn’t hungry anymore. He just couldn’t sleep anymore. He couldn’t help it. 

 

Frustrated, he lowered his voice and pushed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I know,” he repeated. “I just-”

 

“Okay,” Morgana soothed. She grabbed his hand, extracting it from his head. “Gwen and I have made arrangements for the weekend. You’re staying with me at my flat.” 

 

Tears of overwhelming gratitude fogged his vision and he looked away. He felt childish. Unable to take care of himself.

 

Merlin was about to thank her. Apologize for such an inconvenience. Offer to marry her, christ’s sake. But Arthur appeared, his mouth an unattractive shade of red. 

 

“Morgana, Mithian and I-” Arthur started, but cut off. Merlin refused to look at him. “Merlin…” he breathed. 

 

He cursed his luck. The _one_ time Arthur noticed his distress. Merlin roughly swiped his sleeve over his eyes. 

 

“Arthur,” Morgana interrupted. Her voice was sharp and impatient. “I’m to remind you before you and Mithian leave that you both are invited to dinner with Uther.”

 

Arthur, distracted and still staring at Merlin, tore his gaze away and nodded, confused. “Of course. Text me the details.”

 

Morgana nodded and raised her eyebrows in a way that said “now get the hell out of here”. 

 

Arthur fiddled with his jacket. “Mithian wants to say goodbye.” And he gestured over to her, still sitting in the booth. 

 

Merlin wondered if that was true or if Arthur just wanted to get rid of his sister to target him.

 

“What, have her legs malfunctioned?” Morgana snipped.

 

Arthur’s “Uther” look forced Morgana to roll her eyes and get up with a heaved sigh. “Of course, brother dearest.” She said cheekily. As she clicked away, Arthur took her place on the stool. 

 

“I, uhm.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about last night. It… it was a bit unfair.”

 

And Merlin shrugged again, knowing full well that that was the best he would ever get from him. 

 

He expected, then, for their strained conversation to be done with. But Arthur didn’t move and Merlin felt himself freeze up. 

 

“...Something’s been upsetting you lately, hasn’t it?” 

 

Pointing out the obvious, Merlin growled to himself. But he said nothing for a while. Instead he wrung his fingers together and pulled his hand through his hair. “Maybe,” 

 

Clearly Arthur wasn’t expecting such a dismissive answer; he shifted uncomfortably and awkwardly placed his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Gentle and consoling. Merlin couldn’t help leaning into his touch. He was sure Arthur noticed. 

 

“Look, I know I’ve been… I know you’re…” He tried again, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder. He sighed, seeming defeated. “Just, feel free to talk, yeah?”

 

Arthur wasn’t allowed to do this. He wasn’t allowed to be so oblivious one second and so caring the next. Merlin couldn’t deal with his comfort because he was sure he’d collapse into Arthur’s chest and confess everything. His feelings were just too numerous to contain and slowly but surely he would tear at the seams. 

 

Merlin chanced a glance at Arthur through the fringe of his hair, knowing how utterly wrecked and miserable he must’ve looked. The tears in his eyes were unrelenting and when the first one fell, desperate to humiliate, Arthur’s expression grew dark. He looked like he was at war with himself.

 

Merlin exhaled a quick “okay,” barely even coherent, and waited for Arthur to leave. But the hand on his shoulder remained, anchoring him. 

 

“Merlin…” Arthur’s voice softened beautifully and it sounded as though he was in prayer. His name drifted off Arthur’s tongue like a song. It only made things worse.

 

“What?” Merlin said, hoarse. His throat hurt, strained from holding back tears.

 

Arthur’s hand moved up to Merlin’s cheek this time, his thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. Merlin stared at him, fearfully, his eyes wide.

 

His stomach churned at Arthur’s touch as his heart swelled with hurt and longing. He was unable to even breathe as Arthur unconsciously stroked his thumb along Merlin’s skin. 

 

If he could’ve just stayed like that forever. Never speaking. Never breathing. Never eating. If he could’ve stayed there with Arthur’s hand on his cheek, his thumb gliding across his flesh, Arthur’s breathing deep and almost laborious… if he could’ve just...

 

“I’m sorry…” Arthur murmured.

 

Merlin wanted to point out that he had already apologized and that all was (seemingly) forgiven. There wasn’t any point to Arthur apologizing twice.

 

Before Merlin had time to ask him “for what”, though, the sound of Morgana’s rapidly approaching footsteps stopped him. Arthur removed his hand, as if burned.

 

“Alright, Arthur,” Morgana interrupted rudely. “Feel free to leave.” 

 

Arthur stood up, muttering something equally as rude to his sister, before he walked away. Morgana huffed and sat down in front of Merlin, looking over her shoulder and refusing to engage until her brother and that girl left. 

 

Morgana looked at him, concerned. “What was that?”

 

Merlin sniffed and the tears fell. “Morgana,” he said. He looked up at her and his face crumpled. “I,” his voice was gravel. “I think I’m in love with him.”

 

Morgana gathered him up in her arms as he cried. “Oh, love... I know.” She said softly. “I know.”

 

* * *

  

 

Merlin awoke at what seemed to be midday on Saturday. He felt foggy and weighted. The pounding in his head hadn’t subsided very much and an ache was newly etched in his bones. With a groan, he buried himself further into the bed. 

 

Morgana must’ve heard him stir because she entered the room with a tray. 

 

She offered a small smile. “Feeling any better?”

 

Arduously, Merlin shook his head. She frowned and sat down on the bed, placing the tray on the side table. She rested her hand on his forehead.

 

“You’ve got a fever.”

 

Merlin pouted. Of course. Burnt out. 

 

The tray was settled on his lap when Merlin pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. 

 

“I’m not letting you go back to sleep until all of this is gone, you hear me?”

 

The eggs and bacon smelled amazing, but his stomach churned unpleasantly. Merlin looked up at Morgana, giving her a silent plea. 

 

She raised her eyebrow. “No. I’m not leaving until it’s eaten. This has gone on quite long enough.” And pulling out a magazine, Morgana licked her finger and flicked open the first page. “You’re practically Bella Swan from bloody Twilight.” 

 

He resented that comment so much and had to remind himself that punching women in the face was frowned upon. He shoveled the food in his mouth, forcing it down. It felt like his stomach was a bouncing castle and the breakfast was jumping around. He had to steel himself a few times before managing another bite. 

 

It took him a good ten minutes to finish everything. And when he did, Morgana nodded approvingly and removed the tray. She stood up and felt his forehead again. 

 

“I’m getting you something for your fever, alright? Don’t go back to sleep.”

 

Although he could’ve. Really wanted to. She was quick, though, and brought back a glass of water for the pills and a warm compress. 

 

“I’ve been called in by my agency,” Morgana said as Merlin downed the pills. “I’ll be gone for a while, but I should be back before five. Think you can manage on your own?” 

 

Merlin huffed at her teasing. “I’m not decrepit, you know.”

 

She raised her hand and brushed her fingers over his too pointy cheekbone. “Yes you are.”

 

He supposed that was rather accurate, so he couldn’t argue with her. The state he was in clearly spoke in her favour. But Morgana was gentle as she pulled him to her and kissed his forehead motherly.

 

The look she gave him made him melt. He let out a halfhearted chuckle. “Thank you, Morgana. Truly, I would’ve never-”

 

“Don’t you start getting all passive aggressive on _me,_ Merlin Emrys.” She ruffled his hair and left, her quiet movements lulling Merlin back to sleep. 

 

* * *

  

Around seven, an obnoxious knock interrupted Morgana’s reading. She knew who it was before she even opened the door. 

 

“What do you want?” She asked, folding her arms. 

 

“Hello to you too.” Arthur scowled. 

 

Morgana said nothing; she only looked at him expectantly. Her patience for this man was evaporating more and more as each second passed. 

 

When she didn’t respond, Arthur frowned. “You were supposed to tell me about dinner with Father.”

 

“Yes, and I told you I’d text you.” Morgana said slowly.

 

“You’ve been ignoring my texts all day,” Arthur complained. He looked at her as though gibberish was leaving her mouth. 

 

“Been busy.” Morgana said dismissively. She surveyed her nails. 

 

“Gwen told me Merlin’s staying with you.”

 

Morgana nodded and said, “he is,” nonchalantly. She tried to seem uninviting. 

 

“Is he alright?”

 

“Don’t know.” She answered honestly. “He had a fever this morning but I think he’s getting better.”

 

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth. He seemed hesitant to speak, like he was on trial. Like he was being scrutinized and judged. “Can I see him?”

 

“No.” She said bluntly.  

 

Arthur blinked in surprise. He looked ready to protest with fire. “I just-” He stopped himself, however, and frustration burned her insides. “It’s just, Mithian’s been asking.”

 

“Right,” Morgana said doubtfully. She straightened to her full height, her heels giving her the advantage. “Well you can tell her that I’m rather certain cell phones were invented for calling others to check up _themselves.”_  

 

“ _Don’t,_ ” Arthur growled, his finger raised in ridicule. Don’t bring this up. Don’t drag her into this. Just don’t. “Civility isn’t such a difficult concept, Morgana. You might want to give it a try.”

 

Incredulous, Morgana hummed with sarcastic contemplation. “Yes, well, I suppose my taking care of a boy who’s been withering away to nothing for weeks _is_ rather uncivil _._ ” She continued even as Arthur closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I’m not sure, though. Maybe you could ask his _civil_ friends, such as yourself, if remaining ignorant to something like that is the more humane thing to do.”

 

It was quiet as Morgana watched him fidget like a child in the midst of punishment. “I didn’t think-”

 

“No, you didn’t,” she interrupted.

 

Arthur glared up at her from his fringe. He sighed. “He’ll be okay, though, right?” 

 

Morgana gripped the doorknob tightly. She set her jaw. “He’s here because of _you_.” 

 

Another blow. And Morgana was sure he felt it. Arthur gritted his teeth and he looked away. 

 

“...I know.”

 

They stared at each other again, Morgana waiting for another excuse and Arthur unable to come up with one. Sick of his contemptuous behaviour, Morgana sneered at him. “How proud you must be.”

 

The sound of the shutting door echoed desolately in the flat, louder than it ought to have been. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

Merlin awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. The repetitive shrillness of his ring tone ground on his nerves, so he shoved the phone under his pillow to semi-silence it.

 

It must’ve been past midday; Morgana had come in around ten and practically force fed him his breakfast. He had collapsed back into bed shortly after, exhausted. Eating shouldn’t have been such a chore for him.

 

Fatigue had taken the day off from invading Merlin. As had his aches. Now he was left with the weight in his chest and the headache thrumming gently, not bothersome yet, but its consistency was sure to drive him mad, like Chinese Water Torture. 

 

His phone had ceased its ruckus and left Merlin to float on that blissful plain of in between consciouses. But it rang again and shook his pillow angrily, jerking him roughly back to reality. 

 

Snapping his phone open, Merlin half rasped, half groaned out a “hello?”.

 

“What the _hell_ is your problem?!”

 

Will’s voice was furious; Merlin could practically feel the fire emanating from the phone. 

 

Suddenly feeling cornered, Merlin scrubbed at his head. “Erm… hullo, Will-” 

 

“Don’t give me that innocent “hullo”, you bastard.” Merlin cringed. “I’ve been calling you and messaging you and not a bloody thing! Not even a ruddy text telling me you’re at least _breathing._ For fuck’s sake, Merlin! You haven’t even talked to your _mum.”_

 

A weight pulled Merlin’s heart down to fall in that pit in his stomach.

 

“So now _I_ have to save the bloody day and call Gwen because at least _she_ answers her phone, so she could pass me to you. And what do I find out? You’re not even at your bloody flat! Fuck, what are you trying to _do_ to me, Merlin?”

 

He wasn’t aware that that was a rhetorical question, so Merlin made to respond. But-

 

“No, you shut your mouth, you twat. I was _this close_ to calling the police- I almost called that bitch Mithian! You were moping like a sop last time I talked to you and then for weeks you can’t even pick up your goddamn phone? I could _kill_ you!”

 

Merlin sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Will, I-” he swallowed. “I’m sorry; I’m at Morgana’s flat.”

 

“Yeah, _now_ I know, no thanks to you. Gwen told me. Even gave me Morgan’s-”

 

“Morgana-”

 

“Whatever- shut up! … Even gave me that rich girl’s number. Just in case you were still ignoring the whole bloody world.”

 

Merlin sucked in a breath and held it. After a brief moment’s pause Merlin deemed it okay to speak. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound relatively casual. “I… I don’t know what to say to you-”

 

“Well some groveling would be nice. And maybe you could actually talk to your mum so _I_ don’t have to play the bloody messenger.” Will snapped. “I have other things to do than comfort your mum every time _you_ cock up.” 

 

“Alright,” Merlin put his hand up in surrender, sort of forgetting that Will couldn’t see him. “Alright, I’ll call her.”

 

“Today, Merlin.” And any humour that might’ve been present prior to that instantly vanished. “You’ll call her today.”

 

He breathed slowly. Will was right. Of course he was. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “today.” 

 

Morgana knocked on his door then and poked her head in. “Merlin. I’d like to speak with you.”

 

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “Will, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

 

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me Emrys-”

 

And Merlin closed his phone, relieved to be in the ridicule spotlight no longer. 

 

Pushing himself up off the bed, Merlin exited the guest bedroom and joined Morgana in the kitchen. Hot tea was waiting, cozy and inviting. 

 

“How are you feeling?” 

 

Merlin grinned at her. “A bit better, thanks to you.”

 

Reaching over, Morgana placed her hand on his forehead. “Your fever’s gone down.” She smiled, pleased. “And you’ve got some colour in you.” 

 

The silence that followed was comfortable and warm; a true lazy Sunday. Merlin relaxed in his chair as he added milk and sugar to his drink, and relished in the taste. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed _proper_ tea; Morgana’s loose leaf Darjeeling tea kicked his Tetley’s ass. 

 

Tucking in, the pair sipped their tea and chatted about Morgana’s upcoming photo shoot. She was to be in New York City by the end of the week. 

 

“Sounds exhausting,” Merlin commented, “traveling all the time.” 

 

“Actually, I quite enjoy it. I get to see so many wonderful places,” and she quirked her eyebrow with interest, “I get to keep some of the clothes. And I’m never with the same people too often.”

 

Pretending to look offended, Merlin let out an indignant “huh!”. “So my company bores you, does it?”

 

Swatting Merlin’s shoulder, Morgana laughed. “Of course not. I can only stand to be around certain people.”

 

“Oh, well I’m honored, then.” 

 

“You should be.” 

 

“So, let me guess. You can tolerate me, Gwen, Lance,” Merlin counted on his fingers, twisting his mouth in approval with each nod Morgana gave. “...Gwaine?” 

 

Morgana paused then and gave a half hearted shrug. “He’s fun to be around when intoxicated-”

 

“-Which is almost every night-”

 

“-so I wouldn’t say I _dislike_ his company.” 

 

“Okay, so me, Gwen, Lance, kind of Gwaine… Oh you _definitely_ love spending every day with Uther.” 

 

They both snorted and Morgana nodded direly. “Oh yes, how could we have ever forgotten _Uther?_ His crudeness and arrogance are traits I can only dream to have.” 

 

Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle. He had met Uther on two occasions, and both times had been hellish. The man had sneered down at Merlin the second his “gayness” was evident. He was glad, in some way, that he was just dismissed as air invading Uther’s breathing zone, as opposed to being a punching bag for homophobic remarks. 

 

But still, Merlin understood why Morgana constantly jumped from place to place; he would be trying to get away as much as possible if his mother was the same.

 

When he looked back on those two godawful experiences, Merlin just laughed. True, it was unfair to him and to those who suffered at Uther’s ignorance. But it eventually became humorous after Merlin blurted out how stunning it was that someone could really travel so far up their arse. He had expected Morgana to chastise him, but she threw her head back and laughed. From then on, Uther became a punchline to almost every cruel joke.

 

“I’m so sorry you have to see your father for dinner.” Merlin said with very little sympathy. 

 

Morgana simply hummed. “It’s tonight. No doubt Uther will be picking out everything wrong with that Mithian girl.”

 

The mood changed suddenly, then, when Merlin realized that Arthur and Mithian were to be there. Arthur, proudly introducing his beloved Mithian. 

 

“She’s really not horrible, Morgana.” Merlin offered. 

 

“Doesn’t matter. I think this time I’ll happily join Uther.”

 

“No, you don’t mean that.”

 

“I do.” Morgana placed her teacup down, looking determined. She raised her eyebrow, challenging. “I’m not joking when I say you’re right for him.” 

 

Exasperated, Merlin pursed his lips. “Morgana, Arthur won’t-”

 

“You have no idea, Merlin.” She said sharply, like he had hit a nerve. But what nerve, Merlin didn’t know. “Growing up with Uther was hard on me, yes, but it was worse for Arthur.” And Morgana paused, like she was debating with herself whether to continue speaking. After opening her mouth once and closing it, she huffed out a breath. “All the expectations of the Pendragon Name can be suffocating. Needing the top marks, needing to inherit the family business, needing a _successor.”_

 

Merlin screwed up his face. “A successor? Does he think he’s in the Middle Ages?” 

 

Morgana dipped her head to the side with a look that said “well no shit.” 

 

“Spare me.” She said dryly. “Arthur pursuing English is his first and only act of rebellion, and that took him nearly two decades to do…” She trailed off, uncertain. And quietly, she said: “There’s a lot more Arthur wishes to do but won’t.” 

 

Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he still managed a small “like what?”. 

 

“Merlin.” Morgana regarded him seriously. The space between them carried an air of foreboding dread. “I can’t really say much; it’s not for me to speak on Arthur’s behalf. But seeing you like this is just dreadful.”

 

Now Merlin was scared. 

 

After a moment’s hesitation (and Merlin was even more concerned because Morgana had never hesitated so much in the time he’d known her.), Morgana looked up at him and set her jaw.

 

“Merlin, Arthur isn’t as oblivious as you’re hoping.”

 

It was obvious what that meant. But it still didn’t compute. 

 

“...What d’you mean?” He went slow, like walking through a field of land mines. 

 

And Morgana regarded him sympathetically. “You _know_ what I mean.” 

 

.

 

.

 

Oh. 

 

_Oh…_

 

The air had been punched out of him as Merlin shut his eyes. Embarrassment and anger flooded his insides. So Arthur knew. Arthur knew about his pathetic crush, brewing and ongoing for three years. Arthur knew about his sad pining but still dangled his relationship in front of him. Arthur knew. He _knew._  

 

He _knew_ but he lacked the common _decency_ to take Merlin aside and set him straight. He _knew_ but he watched as Merlin spiraled downward and receded into himself. 

 

He _knew_ but he did absolutely nothing. 

 

He _knew_ but he just let it happen. 

 

He _knew._

 

“Oh…” He breathed. “I…oh...fuck…” 

 

Morgana placed her hand over his. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. But she said nothing else. There really wasn’t anything more to say. She couldn’t make it better. She couldn’t make it go away, or chase away the bad thoughts, or fight off the incredible confliction Merlin was feeling then. 

 

Suddenly Fatigue knocked on the door and traipsed into Merlin’s bones. He felt himself weaken a little, and he sagged against the table. 

 

“He knows?” He croaked. 

 

“I’m afraid so.” 

 

Sighing, Merlin straightened himself up and regarded Morgana. She looked like she understood everything that was going through his head. And she also looked murderous. 

 

“I could kill him.” She stated dangerously. 

 

Running a hand through his hair, Merlin mustered a humourless laugh. “I don’t think killing him will help any, so let’s make that Plan B, yeah?”

 

“Well,” Morgana lifted her hand to take his away from his head. “What do _you_ want to do?”

 

Sighing again, Merlin rested his elbow on the table to press his other hand against his forehead. “I don’t know.” He felt Morgana squeeze the hand in hers. “What would _you_ do?” 

 

Morgana hesitated. She pursed her lips and leaned down to level her face with his. “Do you _want_ to get over him?”

 

**_Yes._ **

 

**_No?_ **

 

A conniption erupted in his brain. Merlin hadn’t actually _considered_ trying to get over Arthur. He had wished he could let all of his feelings go. But that was wishing. Not actually _planning._

 

Of course he wanted to get over him. Of course he didn’t.

 

Fuck, he didn’t _know._ What he _felt_ was arguing with what he _thought_. 

 

Did he want to get over Arthur? Was that something he was ready to embrace? 

 

The way Morgana, Gwen, and Lance had consoled him gave him the idea that maybe there was a smidgen of hope that Arthur could return Merlin’s feelings. And even with that smidgen, Merlin would gladly continue this charade. He’d remain a pantomime, there for Arthur to offer entertainment while waiting for that fateful day. The day when Arthur would pull him into his arms and relieve Merlin of his clown mask. 

 

He mentally scolded himself. 

 

He’d already thought that that was going to happen. But in the end it proved detrimental to his health. He had ended up helping Arthur with a birthday gift for Mithian. And that had _hurt_. 

 

Merlin wanted to stop feeling this way. He wanted to be able to eat without feeling the need to heave it back up again. He wanted to be able to sleep peacefully. He wanted to be able to speak to Arthur like he had in the past. When it was all jokes and back talk and teasing. He wanted to be able to feel _good_ about himself. He didn’t _want_ to hear those voices saying “I just don’t want to _be_ here anymore…”, building up a slow crescendo in his head. 

 

He didn’t want…

 

He just didn’t. 

 

Swallowing thickly, Merlin took a deep breath and opened his eyes (apparently he had closed them?). Morgana was there, patiently waiting. 

 

“I…don’t know…” Merlin said finally. 

 

Smiling sadly, Morgana straightened up. “Maybe you should figure that out before you do anything else.”

 

* * *

 

 

Merlin sat on the bed in Morgana’s guest bedroom, staring straight ahead. His phone was in his hands, occasionally being flipped over and around, maneuvered from position to position.

 

The idea of actually getting over Arthur sounded both freeing and terrifying. He loved Arthur. He had finally admitted it to himself. He loved him. Was head over heels in love with him. 

 

All logic was telling Merlin it was time to get over him. To let him go. To drift away with the wind and let it carry him beyond this dark chapter of his life, and away from Arthur. To move on and find a man who truly appreciated Merlin. Who didn’t think he was stupid, who didn’t laugh at his ears, who thought his clumsiness was _charming,_ not _pathetic._ It was the right thing to do. Merlin would’ve had to be senile to not grasp that. The past weeks had been _hell_ for him; it was evident to everyone. 

 

Well, _almost_ everyone. 

 

He never considered himself a masochist. He didn’t like pain. He didn’t relish in wallowing around the muck of his broken heart. But every time he tried to pick himself back up, Arthur would _do_ something or _say_ something and he’d slip in the sludge and fall back into his puddle. 

 

He was caged. And he hated it. 

 

But he still…

 

If someone were to ask Merlin why the _hell_ he would ever still want to be with Arthur after all the shit he’d put him through, the only answer Merlin would be able to come up with would be: “Arthur is my ambedo,”. 

 

Ambedo: noun. Not traditional. Nor is it in Webster’s Dictionary. According to a blog Merlin had read a while ago, it is a kind of melancholy state in which one is completely absorbed in radiant sensory - from the cream swirls in a coffee, to the rain skating down a window - which leads to the awareness of the fragility of life. 

 

Arthur was his ambedo. Because whenever Merlin saw him, everything around him mattered no more. All he could focus on was the vividity of Arthur. The golden tresses, the lighter skip to his step on better days, the adorably crooked front tooth, the muscles from football… everything would suck Merlin in like a sponge and refuse to wring him out. 

 

All the same, though…

 

Ambedo is a _melancholy_ state. Meaning that once that trance released its hold on Merlin, the poignant realization of his insignificance in Arthur’s life became apparent. 

 

And maybe if someone suggested that Merlin was harboring a slight _addiction,_ he would disagree. 

 

Because addiction happened when one obtained said object. 

 

Merlin had not. 

 

Those two days of rest seemed to have no effect on him anymore.

 

As his vision blurred, Merlin’s attention returned to his phone. And he dialed. 

 

“Terribly sorry, but I don’t have an appointment, so I dunno if I can _speak-_ ”

 

“Will,” Merlin said, hushed. 

 

The attitude vanished. “Merlin,” he sounded aghast. “Jesus, what-”

 

“Can you come get me?” 

 

* * *

  

 

Morgana’s door buzzed about forty-five minutes after Merlin and Will hung up. He couldn’t help but smile wryly; leave it to Will to shave fifteen minutes off the drive. 

 

Morgana opened the door and there stood Will, coat peppered with raindrops. Upon seeing him, Merlin took two strides and was in Will’s arms, shoulders lifting with new found ease. 

 

“Bloody bastard.” Will grumbled into Merlin’s shoulder. 

 

Merlin sniffed. “I missed you, too.”

 

And he felt Will’s smile spread across his skin.

 

After a few moments, the two parted and Morgana handed Merlin his bag. She was already dressed to attend dinner with Arthur and “that girl”. 

 

Merlin hugged her, wished her luck for New York City, and kindly requested she be gentle with Mithian. 

 

“I make no promises.” She answered haughtily. Affection tugged at Merlin’s heart. Gingerly, he grabbed her hand with both of his. 

 

_“Thank you.”_

 

Smiling, Morgana placed her free hand over the cage Merlin’s had created. “Please take care of yourself, Merlin. You are dear to so many of us; we love you.”

 

Embarrassed, Merlin let out a breathy laugh and looked down at their hands. 

 

“Arthur’s lucky to have you, Merlin.” And Morgana leaned in like they were sharing a secret. “He just hasn’t seen it yet.”

 

* * *

  

Entering the car, Merlin flopped into the passenger’s seat with a huff. 

 

Will was there a moment later, starting the car and warming his hands with the heater. After a moment of silence, though, he released an incredulous breath. “God you look awful.” 

 

Merlin glared at him. “Bugger off.” He grumbled. 

 

Will just grinned and stomped on the gas pedal, jerking the car forward. 

 

* * *

 

 

Halfway into their drive, Merlin had summed up basically everything that had happened, because Will had demanded, rather threateningly, to know all the details. 

 

Of course some parts were left out. Merlin was sure Will didn’t want to literally know _all_ the details. 

 

Fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly and the grating noise of teeth over teeth continuously interrupted Merlin’s story.  

 

And when Merlin concluded with his newfound knowledge of Arthur’s knowledge, Will exploded. 

 

“He _knows?!_ ” The car swerved a bit as Will gestured wildly. “The bloody bastard _knows?!”_  

 

Merlin scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah…” 

 

“I’ll kill him.” He threatened darkly. 

 

Tilting his head sardonically, Merlin twisted his mouth. “There’s apparently a line up.” 

 

“I’ll bloody fucking _bet there is.”_

 

The funny thing about Will’s anger was that when it detonated, he seemed to forget every word in the English language, with the exception of “fuck”, “bloody”, “shit”, “fuckity”, “twat”, “arse”, “bastard”, and the ever popular “motherfucker”. 

 

Merlin was amused at Will’s temper, and even felt a little touched that it was all for him. 

 

“What the fuck are _you_ smiling about?”

 

Lifting his shoulders, Merlin shook his head with a relented expression. “I honestly don’t know. I might still be processing it, or I might be just too tired to give a shit now.” 

 

“Well shits shall be given!” Will snapped. “I can’t believe that bloody _bastard._ He fucking _knew_ this _entire_ time and he still fucking sat there with his motherfucking twat of a girlfriend who told you to fucking _pretend_ to like him for _her_ sake? Are you fucking _kidding me?!_ What the fuck kind of a friend is she? You never made me pretend to like _her_ back in high school. Oh that fucking bastard. Fuckity _fuck_ mate!” 

 

Jesus, the _mouth_ on that man…

 

Merlin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as his lips curled upward.

 

As the laughter finally escaped Merlin, the tension eased a little and Will joined in, laughing incredulously and periodically saying, “what? What’ve I done?”

 

They calmed down after a minute. Merlin’s attention sifted through everything, from the downpour outside to the low hum of the car’s heater. 

 

“Merlin.” Will said gently. Merlin hummed. “If he already knows,” and he approached his thought slowly, carefully. “Do you think he knows about all the things you’ve done for them?” 

 

Sighing, Merlin considered that. It made him feel worse. Because yes, the answer was most likely yes. Arthur must’ve known. He must’ve known about his crush even when he asked Merlin to approve of the necklace. He must’ve known even when he threw those hurtful insults at him. And he must’ve known when he emerged from Mithian’s room after _that night._ Which would explain the look on Arthur’s face when he realized he and Mithian weren’t alone when it happened. 

 

Resting his head against the window, Merlin closed his eyes. 

 

“Yeah,” he breathed, “I guess he does.” 

 

And the weariness of it all, along with the ever constant hum of the heater, pulled Merlin gently away from awareness as Will’s beat up car chugged closer home. 

 

* * *

 

 

Will pulling the gear shift to park and snapping the emergency break up roused Merlin from his almost drunken stupor. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes as Will turned off the ignition and placed his hands on his knees. 

 

“Want me to come in with you?” 

 

Merlin looked at Will, then; _really_ looked at him. He looked tired and stressed out and Merlin had no doubt that he was the cause of that. His stomach was suddenly deluged with guilt. 

 

Offering a watery smile, Merlin shook his head. “No. That’s alright.” He placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Get some rest. You look almost as bad as I do.”

 

Will, in good nature, shook Merlin’s hand off him and gave him a half hearted shove. “Tosser.” He mumbled. 

 

“I am sorry, Will. For-”

 

“Ah, sod off.” And he grabbed Merlin’s bag from the back seat and dropped it in Merlin’s lap. “Now get out of my car.” 

 

Almost diffidently, Merlin opened the car door and stepped out, expecting the tension to forever remain. But Will got out with him and roughly grabbed Merlin’s arms and pulled him to his chest. Relaxing, Merlin shuffled closer and pressed a chaste kiss to Will’s cheek. 

 

He had only done that a few times. Will was always pretending to hate it when Merlin was affectionate with him, so Merlin kept his distance. But on the few occasions he was allowed, the air around them became tender and almost intimate. Maybe even a bit romantic, in that somehow platonic way. 

 

Against his lips, Merlin felt Will’s cheek move in a fond smile. 

 

When he pulled back, they kept their bodies at a close proximity, with Will’s arms around Merlin’s waist and Merlin’s hands on Will’s shoulders.

 

“It’ll be okay, mate.” Will said quietly. 

 

Merlin nodded slowly, contemplatively. 

 

“Go see your mum.” And Will patted Merlin’s back. 

 

As he stepped away, Merlin shouldered his bag. “Thanks, Will. Really.” 

 

Will just grinned cheekily. “What’re best mates for, yeah? Just don’t cock it up again. I will kill you.”

 

Chuckling, Merlin trudged up his mother’s walkway as Will opened the car door. 

 

“Love you,” Merlin called. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, sod off.”

 

And with that last comedic relief, Will pulled away from the kerb. Merlin knew that his nonchalantly rude response was his requited answer. That was how the two worked. 

 

The door to his house seemed almost bigger, the way it did when he was just a child. He dreaded what was to come. What he’d face. The disappointment, the worry, the scolding. His mother was rarely angry, but that sometimes made him feel even _worse._ With reluctance, Merlin knocked on his front door. 

 

Once upon a time, Merlin would’ve eased in just fine with the key he had. But now, after ignoring his mother for the last few weeks, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed that privilege.

 

After a few moments, Merlin’s mother opened the door. Upon seeing her son, she beamed brightly and gasped in surprised delight. “Merlin!”

 

But as she looked closer, to the sunken in eyes, to the bags beneath them, to the egregiously thin stature, and the forced smile, her expression slid away to replace that of worry. 

 

“Merlin… What is it?”

 

And maybe it was the sound of his mother’s voice, or the unconditional love and concern that smothered her words, or the look of immediate understanding, or the lack of disappointment. Or maybe it was just because he was _so fucking tired._ But Merlin’s face unravelled, and then crumpled. He let out a dry sob. 

 

“ _Mum…_ ” 

 

Hunith stepped forward. “Oh, my poor boy.” And she framed his face with her hands before ushering him in. She closed the door and walked them both to the couch in front of a warm roaring fire.

 

Making quick work of Merlin’s coat and bag, Hunith pushed him to sit down and draped a blanket over his shoulders.

 

She demanded no explanation, no conversation. She didn’t scold him or even inquire about how he got home, how he had been, or if he wanted tea. No, instead she simply wrapped her arms around him and waited until his tears relented and his sobs evened. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blog from which Ambedo was found: http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

Hunith was always a patient person. Always. Rare was the day she raised her voice. She never jumped to conclusions unless Merlin couldn’t utter the words. She raised Merlin to be a patient person as well, and she never once berated him for going whichever way he wanted. He was, what she liked to call, a “free spirit”. She had known he was gay since he was a boy, but she waited until he stood before her at fourteen, lip gnawed between his teeth, to tell her himself. Her simple “yes. I know. About time, dear.” surprised Merlin before he burst into tears of happiness. He never had to “come out” because, to her, he was never even “in”. It was just accepted. From there his confidence shone because he was allowed to be 100% himself. As it should always have been. 

 

So it was natural for her to be a little shocked to see her son in such a depressive state. _Her_ Merlin, the boy who normally faced his problems head on and defended those who didn’t. Merlin, who was confident and knew when respect was deserved. _This_ Merlin, as Hunith was about to see, shied away from conflict and refused to acknowledge the mistreatment he’d been dealt for the last few weeks.

 

After his sobs had ebbed, Hunith got up to boil some water. When she came back with his tea, she saw that Merlin was shivering. She placed the mug in his hands and draped a blanket over his shoulders. He started, suddenly realizing he had been shaking, and gripped the mug tightly, refusing to let go. 

 

She sat down beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Pulling him in ever so slightly, she waited patiently until verbalization was possible for him. 

 

It was a few minutes later that he gulped down a breath and said: “Mithian and Arthur are dating.” 

 

Hunith understood immediately; it would’ve been difficult to not see where his story was going. Arthur, whom she had heard mentioned quite a lot in the last three years of Merlin's schooling, maintained… an interesting relationship with her son. The two of them (“them” being her and Merlin) rarely kept things hidden. She could read him and vice versa, so they found very little point in lying. Arthur, Hunith had learned, was important to him. Gwen had relayed a few stories about Arthur, including the rather cruel jokes Arthur had thrown Merlin’s way. And while _she_ wasn’t the biggest fan at first, she had known that Merlin could handle something like that. And then when she met Arthur last year at a party for Gwen’s birthday, she smiled to herself, knowingly, and decided that she liked him.  

 

“I see,” she said. She replaced his mug with her hands and quietly asked, “what’s happened?”

 

He didn’t tell her everything, obviously. Hunith knew some things were meant to stay with him and him alone. She watched her son’s face change with each story that ensued. From the devastating feeling of “aren’t I good enough” to the crumbling conclusion of “I’ll never be good enough.” From Arthur coating Merlin with sweet concern, to Arthur stripping Merlin bare with his cold cruelty. A tennis match of emotions. 

 

The Arthur Hunith had met last year was mean to Merlin, but more in jest; he was like the little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails. His jokes were lighthearted, she thought. She felt saddened by Arthur lashing out abuse and Merlin accepting it.

 

“I don’t know what to do, mum.” Merlin said, taking his hands from hers to run them through his hair. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “If I’m actually capable of not thinking about him, he’s at the flat with Mithian. And if he’s not at the flat with Mithian, he’s inviting me out to study or to dinner or _all_ these things to make me _miserable_ , and when he’s not doing that, he’s all I can think about and I…” He sucked in a deep breath and tugged at his hair. “...I don’t know what to do.” He repeated.

 

Hunith smiled sympathetically and gently withdrew his hands from his head. She remembered fondly the days of exams that had her son permanently spiking his hair with his incessant tugging. Such a ridiculous habit he had obtained. 

 

“Oh, my dear.” She kissed his hand. Leaning in, she waited until her son had the courage to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Merlin. This must be very hard for you.” 

 

Merlin cringed and exhaled harshly while closing his eyes. “Oh _God,_ Mum, I feel so _mortified._ I’m so _stupid.”_

 

“No,” Hunith said softly. “You’re not. You’re a man very much in love.”

 

He scoffed. “Same thing.” He muttered. 

 

“You mustn’t punish yourself, Merlin. What’s happened is in the past now. All you can do is continue to be yourself and move forward.”

 

Merlin cast pained eyes over to her momentarily before flicking them insecurely to the floor. “Me being myself has resulted in Arthur laughing cruelly at me and my pathetic pining.”

 

“Give him more credit than that, Merlin.” Hunith reasoned. “He likes you. I know he does.”

 

“Mum,” Merlin groaned, briefly looking at her as if she had no idea what she was talking about. “You’ve talked to him for not even ten minutes. _How_ could you possibly know that?” 

 

“Because I do.” She said firmly. “Because you are kind and sweet and loving and deserving of so much more than you’re giving yourself.” She flattened down his hair before leaning in and kissing his cheek. Merlin huffed out a fond laugh and grinned timidly. “I’m going to make you something to eat, alright? I want you to go upstairs, run yourself a warm bath, and go straight to bed. I’ll bring you your dinner.” 

 

It looked like Merlin wanted to protest, but she saw the fight leave her son; how very tired he was. He mumbled a sincere thank you before he walked painstakingly up the stairs and into the bathroom. She smiled sadly after him and shook her head, remembering the complications of her youth. Of shy and awkward glances, of misinterpreted words and meanings, of blatancies going by obliviously. She could only imagine how much more difficult it was for her son. He was so much stronger than her, and if his circumstances were able to break him down to reach _this_ level of desolation, well… she couldn’t fathom it. 

 

It pained her to see him so weak and… _lacking._

 

* * *

  

The bath was half empty when Merlin began to undress himself. Slowly and robotically, he removed his sweater, then his shirt, and miserably looked at himself in the mirror. He was pale; very pale. Gaunt, even. His ribs were egregiously visible. His clavicle, too. He looked ghastly, like he had woken up from ten years of death. He saw the hunch of his shoulders, the perpetual curve of his back like he was withdrawing into himself. He looked disgusting. Exsanguinated. _Sunken._  

 

Hot tears burned his eyes as he thought about what Arthur was doing to him. What _he_ was doing to himself. Seeing himself like this - reduced to skin and bones… it made his stomach drop. He only now noticed how much skinnier he was. His weight, severely reduced… Those pounds, no doubt filled with his confidence, his happiness, his fun personality, his charisma, his… everything… were lost. He had shed those pounds and everything else and was left with this… this negativity, this anger and _brooding_ and who was he, even? 

 

Merlin couldn’t help the ugly twist of his mouth as he tried to suppress the sobs that pushed at his throat. He turned from the mirror and wished for the sickly image of himself to disappear. To pretend it wasn’t there. He climbed into the tub, hissing at the heat, and turned off the water; the tub was full enough now. Sitting back, Merlin felt the warmth of the water melt away his alertness and restlessness. He sunk into the water until just his head was exposed. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to think of something, _anything,_ that didn’t involve Arthur. 

 

It took a while before Merlin started thinking of the first year of uni with Gwen. The two of them, exploring the campus, making goals for their future, finding nooks and crannies in the exotic and exciting city of Camelot. How they tried nearly every restaurant so that, when family visited, they could impress them with their knowledge. How Gwen had almost called the ambulance when Merlin ate some very questionable Indian food and ended up passing out with his head in the toilet. How hard they had laughed when they had gotten ridiculously drunk together and went to a club, teased a few men, and left with their confidences boosted. How Gwen would find Merlin asleep in the library after a hard night’s work and have his coffee on hand, warm and ready.  

 

Water trickled its way in Merlin’s lungs as his face sunk below the surface. In a panic, Merlin pulled himself upward, hands gripped, white knuckled, on the edge of the tub. He coughed for a good minute before the water finally cleared his lungs and left behind a burning wheeze. Embarrassed for no reason, Merlin sniffed and uncorked the tub. Laboriously, he stood and stepped out of the tub, noting just how difficult movement was for him lately. Towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Merlin moved to his bedroom and immediately changed into his very baggy pyjama pants and loosely fitted shirt. The less noticeable his significant weight loss, the better ease for his mother. This was not going to be another thing his mother would fret over. He could fix this. 

 

Adding a few extra blankets to his usual sheets, Merlin slipped below them and curled into bed. Moments later his mother appeared, tray in hand. On it was a bowl of stew, a glass of water, and (what Merlin suspected) some pain killers.

 

She placed it gently on his lap and sat with him.

 

“Thanks, Mum.” Merlin said shyly. His mother only smiled. After a few moments, when the only sound was the clinking of Merlin’s spoon and the attempted-silent slurps, Hunith clasped her hands together and placed them on her lap. 

 

“Have you got school tomorrow?” 

 

Merlin grimaced and nodded before swallowing his mouthful. “Erm, yeah, but I can ask Gwen to record it. She’s in practically all my classes.” All but two. One with Mithian, the other with Arthur. His fucking Shakespeare course.

 

His mother smiled regrettably and said, “what about work, though? Or plans with friends?” 

 

Merlin was about to say he could call in sick for the week, but then he remembered that he did, in fact, have plans this week. His stomach sunk. “Mithian’s birthday. It’s coming up this month.” Merlin chewed his lip for a moment. “There’s a party for her this Friday.” A party which he definitely could not miss.

 

He had completely forgotten. Gwen had mentioned it a while back, but certain circumstances had left him rather preoccupied. Hearing his mother sigh, Merlin looked up. 

 

“I’m afraid that’s not something you can miss.” She said. “Neither is a whole week of school.” It looked like she didn’t want to say it and that made Merlin feel wanted. Smiling weakly, Merlin finished his bowl and downed the painkillers. Hunith stood up and kissed his forehead. “I’ll drive you to the station tomorrow after work. Sleep as much as you need, dear. You get better.” And she picked up the tray. 

 

“Thank you, Mum.” 

 

As his lights turned off, Hunith called out, “goodnight, my boy.” and closed his door.

 

Merlin noted, very far away into the distance of awareness, how glad he was that even though Arthur didn’t love him, he had Will, Lance, Gwen, Morgana, and his mum who did. Who would never stop loving him. 

 

And that thought alone, as warmth seeped into his bones, gently pushed him into deep slumber: where dreams soared, where happiness overflowed, where phantoms dissipated. 

 

* * *

  

Hunith pulled up to the station and turned off the car. She looked over to her son in the passenger seat and smiled grimly. “I’m sorry to see you go.” 

 

Apprehension had taken over his stomach, to the point where he thought he might be sick. He was dreading what could happen. Merlin took a deep breath, glanced at his mother, and mustered a smile. He could do this. He could fix this. 

 

“Me too.” He said sincerely.

 

Hunith’s smile turned genuine. “But you’re needed there.” 

 

Merlin mirrored her smile. “Thank you, Mum, and… and I’m sorry for…” _Not calling, not texting, not answering, basically all around ignoring you._ “…everything.” 

 

“Nonsense, Merlin. I understand. But know that I am always here.” She leaned over hugged him. “Always.”

 

Merlin gave her a watery smile as gratitude overwhelmed him. He ducked in and kissed her cheek. “Bye, Mum. Love you.” He reached around to grab his bag in the backseat and stepped out of the car. 

 

“Love you too.” 

 

And Merlin closed the door, waved, and turned to the ticket booth. 

 

* * *

 

The train ride was a little less than an hour, as Merlin had thankfully caught an express route. When he got off (luckily someone had jostled him awake; he hadn’t even been aware that he’d dozed off) to the platform, Gwen was there, bundled up and beaming. 

 

It felt like the two hadn’t seen each other in _years,_ when it had really only been three days. But so much had happened, so much had transpired. When he caught sight of her, he smiled in relief. Gwen bounded over to him and practically jumped in his arms. He caught her with an “oomph!” and laughter bubbled out of him. He squeezed tightly. 

 

When their grips eased, Gwen slid down until her feet touched the ground. She pulled back and placed her hand on his cheek. She smiled fondly. “Your mother called me.” She said, answering a question he hadn’t thought to ask. He didn’t care about who told her, or how she got here… what mattered was that she was _here_ with him. 

 

Merlin gripped the hand on his cheek and brought it down between them. Together they walked, hand in hand, to the tube. 

 

“How are you feeling?” Gwen asked. And Merlin smiled. Not because of her concern, but because she asked him without that stain of pity. 

 

“Fine.” He said. “You, Morgana, Will, and mum were all so helpful.” He squeezed her hand. “So thank you. So much, Gwen.”

 

“Like I said,” Gwen placed her free hand on her chest, humbly. “You’d crash and burn without me.”

 

Merlin didn’t turn to her, but he laughed and silently agreed. 

 

* * *

  

When the pair entered the flat, Gwen immediately went to the kitchen to make some tea for them both. She had told him that after he settled in more, they would have a chat about his weekend. 

 

So Merlin unpacked what Gwen had packed for his weekend and placed it in his laundry basket. He organized his room a little bit more and looked over what homework he should’ve done over the weekend. He was, thankfully, not too far behind in his work; while he’d remained holed up in his room, he’d been (relatively) productive. 

 

A bit later, Merlin entered the kitchen where Gwen was waiting for him with tea and scones. Comfortably, he sat across from her and grabbed his mug. 

 

“Where’s Mithian?” And only a little guilt filled his gut when Merlin realized he’d completely forgotten her. 

 

“She’s at Arthur’s,” Gwen said hesitantly. “… Dinner with the Pendragons didn’t go according to plan.” 

 

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” 

 

She shifted in her seat. “She stormed into the flat after dinner, very unhappy.”

 

“Well, did she say what happened?” Merlin sipped his tea and felt his insides slowly loosen. 

 

“No,” Gwen trailed off, “but she did mention Uther being a horrid human being, and Morgana a…” She stopped and scrunched up her face. “Well, it rhymes with punt and we’ll just leave it at that.” 

 

Merlin snorted. “I’d like to hear that story later.” 

 

Gwen tried to shoot him a scornful look, but it failed to be convincing, what with her suppressing her own amusement. Of course it wasn’t good that Mithian was at the receiving end of Morgana’s illecebrous wrath, but it was always fun to hear the stories. Morgana always told them the best; her expressions were sometimes keel-over-laughing funny. 

 

The moment settled and Gwen placed her mug on the table. “So, how was your weekend?” 

 

“It was…” He drew out the “s” as he thought. “Enlightening,” he chose. Gwen’s bright grin made him return it with equal warmth. He chuckled and added, “I got an angry call from Will,”

 

“So did I,” Gwen said fondly. Merlin smiled apologetically and shrugged. 

 

“It was good, though. To…” He fingered his mug. It was difficult to say this without sounding like a whining pubescent. Embarrassed, Merlin ducked his head a bit. “…to see that people do care about me.” 

 

Gwen’s pained look made his stomach clench a bit. 

 

“Not that I didn’t think you did,” Merlin reassured. He placed a hand over Gwen’s. “I know you do. I just… It’s- I know you care about me. And I know mum and Will and Morgana do too. It was just… I didn’t want you all to know. About Arthur, I mean. I didn’t want to put you in a position where you’d feel you’d have to choose.”

 

“Merlin…”

 

“And because I didn’t tell you… I started to feel isolated. And then it was like I _couldn’t_ talk to anyone.” He scratched his head, hoping it made sense. “’Course most of it was self-inflicted.”

 

Gwen squeezed his hand, supportively. 

 

“When I got to my mum’s, oh god, Gwen, I saw myself. _Really_ saw myself.” He cringed as the shame of his doings twisted his stomach. “I look wretched. And _I’ve_ done that. _I_ did that to myself.” Merlin drank the last of his tea and gently placed his mug on the table. Weakly, he added, “and I don’t _want_ to do that.” 

 

Gwen switched seats so that, instead of being across from Merlin, she was next to him. She slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. “Okay. So, what _do_ you want to do?”

 

Merlin huffed as he considered his options. He could drop out of school, drop his class with Arthur (it wasn’t like he needed it anyway), he could tell Mithian what’s been going on, he could eat a lot of fast food until he gained weight, he could sever any and all ties with Arthur and Mithian (it wouldn’t be _too_ difficult)… He didn’t know. Merlin was debating between what was easy and what was right. What was cowardly and what was strong. He longed to just crawl back into his shell and cause as little trouble as possible. But he’d been that way for weeks now, and there was a vast amount of anecdotal and factual proof that it wouldn’t help him. Throughout the whole array of choices, plausible and implausible, their destination pointed to one goal, and one goal only. 

 

“I just want to be happy again.” 

 

Gwen smiled at him, looking so wonderfully relieved. She tenderly pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Alright.” She squeezed his arm. “Let’s figure it out, then.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a very long overdue apology to everyone who reads this story and follows it. I am so very sorry. 
> 
> I apologize for the months that I did not update. It was unacceptable of me to leave the story incomplete.
> 
> But - well, in June of 2013, my father announced that his cancer had returned. So I had very little inspiration to write and soon a writer's block was causing me to spurt out sentences with no flow, no feeling. I couldn't submit something I hated. Something I know you all would hate. 
> 
> In September, my father told me that because of his chemotherapy, his immune system couldn't fight an infection that had taken over his leg. So it was amputated. 
> 
> In December, my father had a stem-cell transplant to hopefully rid him of the cancer for at least 5 years. He was in the hospital for two weeks, and I only got to see him once that whole time. And when I did, I had to wear gloves and couldn't touch him. I didn't get to see him on Christmas. 
> 
> Early January, my siblings and I were informed that the cancer came back. Very unexpected, very unfair, very unheard of. But he remained optimistic, so we did too. 
> 
> Then in late January, my dad was admitted to the hospital for dehydration. It was then discovered his kidneys and his liver were failing. When I got to see him, he was so drugged up that he couldn't speak properly or form coherent thoughts. 
> 
> Then, early morning the next day, he passed away. 
> 
> I know sometimes it's good to push through grief and work your way through it, but my dad and I were very close. He and I held music so close to our hearts, and he accepted me and every difference that made me feel insecure. And the fact that he fought so hard for so long just makes this all shitty - so fucking shitty, because it's unbearably unfair. 
> 
> I didn't want to give so much detail; I promise this isn't a vent session. It's just a reason to explain my absence. To explain why this chapter is sort of half-hearted. I apologize for possibly lacking in content. 
> 
> Thank you for your understanding. And know that it will be a while until my next update. 
> 
> Autumdragon


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

Darkness as his company, Merlin sat in the kitchen. Gwen had gone to sleep about half an hour ago and Merlin had since turned off the lights. His thoughts had joined him then, only this time they weren’t malicious. They were inquisitive.

What now?

How will this happen?

What are you going to do?

What about Mithian?

And Arthur?

Dropping out of school was out of the question. It was the beginning of March. Exams were in a month. All he had to do was pass his courses and he’d be graduated. Done his years of study. After this, he’d never have to see Arthur again.

He and Gwen had decided that they would study together and she would catch him up as best she could, so as to make sure he would pass his classes and end up with respectable results. In order to do so, however, Merlin was in for a few weeks of challenge. He would have to get used to eating proper portions again. He would need to maintain a constant routine of sleep to ensure better sleep quality and quantity. He would also need to surround himself with people who cared for him. Actually cared for him. Gwen, ever so thorough, had pointed out all these necessities for recovery. And, to help, she was going to join him throughout the eating, the good company, and the studying.

“And lastly,” Gwen had said. She reached into her bag and took out a few pamphlets. “I got these at the student services centre on campus.”

Reading over them, Merlin felt his stomach twist a little. He looked up at her. “Support groups?”

Gwen raised her hands in a calming gesture. “It’s just a thought. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Doubtful, Merlin raised his eyebrows. “They have support groups for people who fancy others that don’t fancy them back?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Those are for self esteem.”

Merlin suddenly felt embarrassed. He hunched in on himself, refusing to look at her.

“Don’t - Merlin,” Gwen scooted her chair closer. “No one is ever one hundred percent confident with who they are. Some people’s doubts last longer than others’. And that’s what this is for.”

“I-” Merlin frowned and stole a glance at her. “I can’t go. It’s like… it’s like I’m admitting I’m a lost cause and-”

“It’s _not_ like that. And you’re _not_ a lost cause.” She smoothed over his hair. “This is just in case you feel you can’t recover without proper help. We’ll see how you are later on and if things haven’t improved by then, we’ll go together. Okay?”

Merlin reluctantly agreed. He supposed balancing on the cusp of starvation all because he felt like he was nothing did qualify as something a professional should help with. But, for some reason, Merlin felt like this was something he had to do alone. He had managed to dig himself into a hole that was too big to emerge from by himself. But he had dug it. And since he still had the shovel in hand, it was time to fill the hole and step out with confidence. Well, that was the goal.

Gwen had said goodnight after that. Solutions to limiting his contact with Arthur and Mithian came to mind, some ridiculously drastic, others not drastic enough. He supposed, in the end, that limiting contact with just Arthur was more important than the couple. Besides, with Mithian beside him, Arthur wouldn’t make nearly as many insults and his attention would be on _her,_ not Merlin.

When he entered his bedroom that night, mind made up and tired of thinking about Arthur, he noticed that the room, post-breakdown, seemed warmer and more welcoming than it did before, pre-breakdown. No longer was his room a place in which he was imprisoned, hiding from Arthur and Mithian. Now it was just his room.

He looked at his bed, noticing the stain that somehow mocked him. He took a firm step forward, a firm step to recovery, and stripped his bed. Merlin tangled everything into a ball, suffocating the stain and letting it die. He threw it into his hamper and remade his bed.

He slept soundly that night, in his new sheets.

* * *

 

On Tuesday, Merlin walked down the English Department’s halls, which were, for some reason, empty and eerily silent. His shoes clomped and echoed forebodingly. When he reached his professor’s door, Merlin knocked and secretly hoped no one would be there. He hesitated upon hearing a “come in”.

When he entered, timidly, he saw his professor at her desk, shifted away from the door and facing her computer, typing.

“Professor Freya?”

“Yes, come in. Sit. I’ll be with you in a moment,” his professor gestured with one hand before returning it to her keyboard.

Merlin bit his lip lightly, nervously, as he shuffled forward and sat on the chair opposite his professor’s desk. He fidgeted, waiting for her to finish whatever she was typing. With the finalizing click of her mousepad, Professor Freya swivelled slightly in her chair and faced Merlin.

“How can I help you?”

Merlin rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I, uh. I’m in your fourth year Shakespeare class that runs every Thursday?”

“Yes, I recognize you. And your name is?”

“Merlin. Merlin Emrys.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Emrys. I remember now. I was rather impressed with your midterm paper.”

Smiling, pleased, Merlin shuffled in his seat. “Thank you.”

Looking expectantly at Merlin, Professor Freya raised her eyebrows and repeated, “How can I help you?”

“Oh. Yes, uhm.” Merlin didn’t know why he was so nervous to tell her. He had no reason to be. He wasn’t even majoring in English. “I wanted to let you know that I have decided to drop the course.”

Freya nodded slowly. “And why have you come to me? You’ve dropped it already, yes?”

“Yes.” Merlin scooted to the edge of his seat. “I wanted to let you know that I didn’t drop it because of your teaching. I loved your class and I’m sorry to leave it.”

A small smile bloomed on her face. “Well thank you, Mr. Emrys. I appreciate you coming here in person.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Merlin made to get up. “If I may,” his professor said, “why are you leaving, then?”

Screwing up his face, Merlin relaxed in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s…” he drew out the “s”. “S’complicated.”

Bemused, Professor Freya clasped her hands together and leaned them on her desk. “Can you _un_ complicate it?”

Merlin grinned, despite himself. He thought it funny his Shakespeare professor was making up words. How very Shakespeare of her. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Professor Freya leaned back and nodded to the door, smiling. “Good luck, then.”

Merlin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you, ma’am.” And he stood up on steady legs.

 

* * *

 

When Wednesday came, Merlin made sure to be a little late so that he’d be forced to sit at the back of the class to prevent any disruption. And when class ended, he packed his bag and quickly exited to avoid Mithian. He wasn’t ready to see her just yet and face her many questions that would no doubt ensue. He hadn’t even seen her at their flat yet; apparently she was spending most of her time at Arthur’s lately. He wasn’t sure if the twist in his stomach was because he was jealous of all the time she was spending with Arthur, or if it was because he knew he’d have to face them soon. Merlin was about to work a long shift, and Mithian was working with him. Undoubtedly, Arthur would be there too.

 

* * *

 

Apron tied tightly around his waist, Merlin attended his tables with shy smiles, feeling a little unsteady as he saw Mithian enter. Her face lit up when she saw him. He offered a tentative smile when she waved. When his customers all had their drinks and food, Merlin walked behind the counter and let out a slight grunt when Mithian launched herself at him.

“Merlin!”

“Hey, Mith.”

She pulled back and grinned. “How are you feeling? Arthur told me you’ve been unwell. We’ve been concerned.”

Merlin grimaced. He wondered when “I” become “we”; he was certain Arthur wasn’t concerned. He supposed, though, that the evolution of their relationship led to “I” becoming “we”. “I’ll be there soon” eventually would turn into _“We’ll_ be there soon.” Maybe Arthur’s “I don’t care about you” would turn into _“We_ don’t care about you” as well. He wasn’t sure if he looked forward to that or dreaded it.

“I’m feeling better, thanks. Just have a lot of work to catch up on now.”

Mithian rolled her eyes playfully with him. “So dramatic. You’ll catch up no problem; you’ve only missed a day.”

He bitterly thought to himself that he’d missed a lot more than a day.

But he smiled at her. “Yeah you’re right. I’ll be fine.”

And he felt himself falling back into the routine of being “fine”. He wondered if he would be.

The door chimed as more customers entered, freeing Merlin of their jaded conversation.

 

* * *

 

Inevitably, Arthur came to pick Mithian up when closing time neared. She was mopping the floors as Merlin was wiping the counter tops.

Steeling himself, Merlin slowly looked up at Arthur, willing himself not to feel embarrassed. This was the first time he’d seen him since Morgana's party. The first time he was facing him since finding out that Arthur knew. About everything.

He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t an Arthur shrouded in normality. There was no worry, no relief, no discernment. Nothing. Just Arthur. And, for some reason, that infuriated him. After the hellish week he’d had, all thanks to Arthur, why was he the only one affected? Shouldn’t Arthur look guilty? Upset? _Anything?_

This made seeing him all the more difficult. When Arthur’s gaze settled on him, Merlin looked away and sighed deeply. He picked up the cloth and continued wiping the counter tops, seemingly busier than he was.

“Peasant.”

And Merlin jumped, not realizing that Arthur had walked to him, away from Mithian. He regarded Arthur coldly.

“Where is my sustenance?”

He felt his body shake from annoyance as a wave of lividity roared through him. Nonchalance was not something he wanted. Not from Arthur.

“I haven’t made it.” He gritted out.

Arthur feigned kingly outrage, but there didn’t seem to be any genuine humour behind it. “Three hours in the stocks, then, peasant.”

Merlin glared at him for a moment, feeling himself slowly chip away into nothingness. This wasn’t fair. Slowly, Arthur’s smile slipped off his face. He cleared his throat.

“Are you feeling better-“

“Yeah, fine. Thanks.” Merlin interrupted. He wrung out his cloth over the sink and threw it to join his apron on the floor, both in wait for the wash. He looked over to Mithian. “Hey, Mith - I’ll take over from here. You and Arthur can go.”

Wiping her sweaty forehead, Mithian smiled at him. “Thanks Merlin.” She looked at Arthur. “Let me just get my stuff.”

Arthur nodded, still looking at Merlin, seemingly unable to compute what he’d just done. As Mithian walked to the back, silence stretched unsteadily over them.

Merlin knew Arthur was looking at him, could feel the burn similar to the one he'd received when they watched that movie. But this time, instead of reacting and giving him the satisfaction, Merlin refused to meet his gaze. He let the thinly stretched silence struggle under the weight of it all until eventually, Arthur tore it. Pulled it apart. He pulled everything apart.

“I uhm.” And he cleared his throat. “I forgot to ask: are you free to study next week?”

“Actually, I’ve dropped the course.” Merlin replied quickly. And he continued his ministrations, throwing the old pastries into the rubbish bin.

“You-” Arthur stepped closer to the counter that separated them. “- dropped the course.”

And it was then that Merlin’s insecurities set off when he realized how disappointed Arthur sounded. “Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “I, well, it’s not like I need it for my major, so it just didn’t seem to make sense.” He still hadn’t looked at Arthur, but his cheeks flared at the knowledge that he was being scrutinized. Under a microscope, small and insignificant in the eyes of Arthur.

 _“Mer_ lin.”

Straightening, Merlin turned and looked over at Arthur. For some reason, the hopeless romantic part of him expected to see a devastated Arthur, an Arthur devoid of any disdain. The part of Merlin that would still cut his own heart out as an offering to him, regardless of how many times it was shoved back in his face… that part was hoping to find Arthur beside himself, wanting to be with him. Wanting to spend those precious 60 minutes with him and him alone. But it wasn’t like that. He just looked dark, like a conniption had taken ahold of him.

Puzzled, Merlin opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong, but-

“Arthur?” Mithian appeared, somehow invisibly to both men. “Are you alright?”

Arthur, still looking at Merlin, didn’t answer. And Merlin couldn’t stop staring at him, either. Confused, Mithian glanced at the both of them before she said: “What’s going on?”

It was Merlin who looked away first. “Nothing. I’ll finish up here. Off you go.”

Mithian grinned at him, still looking confused, before she slid her hands around Arthur’s arm. She gently led him away, throwing a “see you at home” at Merlin.

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps forty minutes later, after Merlin had gathered himself together and finished the mopping and put the rubbish away, he arrived at his flat, taking notice of both Mithian’s and Arthur’s shoes by the door.

He saw Mithian on the couch, reading one of her textbooks. Gwen was in the kitchen, putting together both their dinners. He didn't know where Arthur was, though. Merlin’s stomach clenched painfully when the smell of food reached his nostrils. He felt sick.

He felt as though an infinite amount of weight had been tied to his body, pulling him down into this pit he’d been trying to climb out of. Scrabbling at the walls, screaming for help, only to have the noise boomerang right back to him. He felt tired and unworthy.

Upon hearing the door close, Gwen turned around with one plate in each hand, smiling. Her sunny mood faded, however, when she saw the look on Merlin’s face. She placed the dinners on the counter and rushed forward.

“What’s happened?” She said quietly, wary of Mithian’s presence. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He shook his head and dropped his bag.

“Merlin…”

“Gwen.” He said angrily. “It’s _nothing.”_

A look of utter defiance crossed Guinevere’s face. “It’s _not_ nothing, Merlin. It’s you. Your wellbeing.” She took his hand as he toed off his shoes. “Come eat with me. We’ll talk about it.”

“M’not hungry.” He shook off Gwen’s hand.

 _“No,_ Merlin. You’re not doing this.” And her voice rose, if only a little.

“Gwen-”

“No, Merlin! You _will_ eat. I’m _not_ letting you starve yourself again.”

The bathroom door beside them shut loudly and the two of them looked over to Arthur, whose shocked face clearly showed that he’d heard Gwen. He stared with eyes that were only slightly wide. Merlin saw Gwen close her eyes in dismay before turning back to him with such a sorry look.

While the moment itself lasted for a few seconds, Merlin felt years leave his body, then centuries when Arthur recovered coolly and turned his back to him and walked away.

“Fuck…” he breathed. His shoulders sagged and he finally turned back to Gwen.

Looking mildly horrified, Gwen placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” came her muffled reply.

Merlin just shook his head. “S’not your fault.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and together they walked to the kitchen. He made sure to eat every bite of his dinner before he went to bed, ignoring Mithian's goodnight wishes and Arthur's dismantling gaze. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd first like to thank everyone for their overwhelming support and kind condolences. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. 
> 
> Second, I'm aware that it's been almost a year since my last post. I apologize. 2014 was not my year. 
> 
> Despite the shit-show that was my year, I have remained determined to finish this story. I will not let it die. I love these characters too much to not give them their happily ever after. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to apologize if this chapter wasn't as dramatic or exciting as the others. Please keep in mind that Merlin is trying to recover, which is a slow process to those who have endured it. It's not like some romantic movie where the character's insecurities and problems fade away with the seal of a kiss (wouldn't that be great though? What a kind world that would be.)
> 
> Thank you so much for your never ending support.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin should've laughed. Should've seen that one coming. It was funny, in some twisted way. Funny that the man he was arse over tits for was with his best friend. Funny that he actually thought that man could turn out to be gay. And what made this whole thing uproariously funny was that even if Arthur could be gay, Merlin actually thought he stood a chance.

When Mithian’s party rolled around, it seemed only Merlin and Morgana were less than excited. Of course Morgana had no problem expressing her foul mood, but Merlin, ever the people pleaser, plastered on smile after smile as friends of Arthur and Mithian said hello. 

 

The two of them stood with glasses of whatever in their hands as his apartment buzzed with greetings and laughter. It was to be a surprise party, Gwen said, so it was mandatory for everyone to arrive 15 minutes early. 

 

So there they were, Merlin dressed in a purple collared shirt and jeans and Morgana with an emerald dress that called way too much attention to her legs. Merlin supposed that was deliberate; god forbid Mithian basking in her apparent popularity. He couldn’t help the part of him that was actually glad Morgana was on his side. He felt a little petty, of course, but he allowed himself to be that way. Just this once.

 

When Mithian and Arthur entered the dark apartment, hand in hand, Gwen turned on the lights and everyone (except Morgana) shouted “Surprise!”. Mithian’s shocked face made Merlin smile, especially when she looked around and said, laughing, “thank you” to the crowd. Then she looked back at Arthur, whose not so subtle smirk of satisfaction practically pulled her into his arms, whereupon the two kissed. 

 

Merlin heard Morgana scoff as his stomach clenched painfully. In one swift motion, he downed his drink, making a face at the sting, and turned to her. 

 

“Wanna get drunk?”

 

A smile grew on her face. “I literally thought you’d never ask.” 

 

* * *

 

 

The two of them stayed close together for the next hour or so, doing shots and drinking honestly whatever the fuck they could get. At one point they thought the alcohol was all gone, and Morgana let out a dramatic wail until Gwaine procured a bottle of Jägermeister. This led to a kiss sandwich, with Merlin on Gwaine’s left cheek and Morgana on Gwaine’s right. 

 

After that bottle was gone, Morgana and Merlin were in the bathroom talking, like two teenagers gossiping. His back was leaning against the tub, legs outstretched, with Morgana sitting on the counter, occasionally turning the sink on and off.

 

“Oh no” Merlin suddenly gasped. 

 

“What?” Morgana sat up and instinctively checked her reflection.

 

“You have to be in New York tomorrow!” 

 

Morgana let out a bark of laughter. “Oh! No, s’fine. I told uhm… oh fuck… what’s his name?” 

 

“Uther”

 

“No”

 

“Gwen”

 

“No”

 

“Arthur”

 

“ _No”_

 

And Merlin then proceeded to list anyone he could think of. “Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Sauron-”

 

“Shhhhh-” And Morgana laughed, her finger still over her lips as she giggled. Merlin joined, keeling over as his stomach ached with laughter. 

 

“Bob!” Morgana shouted. “My manager Bob. I told him I’ll come on Sunday. Tomorrow shall be a bed day.”

 

Merlin screwed up his face. “Your manager’s name isn’t Bob.”

 

“I know, I still can’t remember it.”

 

And the two howled with laughter again. The door opened and revealed Lancelot, who looked rather amused. He turned his head to the side and said “over here, Gwen.” 

 

When Gwen arrived, she tutted impatiently and shoved a bottle of water into both of their hands. 

 

“For heaven’s sake, you two. I can’t leave you alone for a bloody hour!” 

 

“It’s been an hour and a _half,”_ Morgana corrected. 

 

Giving her a glare, Gwen turned to Merlin. “Is this, in any way, going to help how you’ve been feeling?” 

 

Irritated, Merlin got up. “It has so far.” 

 

“Don’t break his balls, Guinevere. He’s just having fun.” Morgana said. She jumped off the counter and held herself steady with a little help from the wall. 

 

Gwen rolled her eyes as Lance put an arm around her shoulders. “Let them be. He needs this release.” 

 

“Oh Lancelot. Knight in shining armour. You always save the day.” Merlin purred. All of them chuckled, except Gwen. When Merlin poked her side, she squealed and reluctantly smiled. 

 

“Fine. Just know that I hate you for not asking me to join you two.” 

 

Merlin beamed at her. 

 

“Mithian’s been looking for you two. She wants to say thank you.” 

 

Morgana rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. Now was the time for her to put on a performance. She was good at pretending to not be drunk. The happy couple left just before Morgana was about to. But she stopped, suddenly, and turned to Merlin. She looked at him, analyzed him.

 

“Drink that bottle and splash water on your face.” She said. “No more of this, okay?” 

 

Merlin narrowed his eyes at her. “What?” 

 

Sighing, she closed the door, locked it, and grabbed the hand towel hanging beside the sink. She wet it with cold water and pressed it to his neck. 

 

“Ah!” Merlin squawked, trying to pull away from the cold. “What are you doing?” 

 

“Hush.” She removed the cloth and pressed it against his forehead this time. After dabbing for a moment, she threw the cloth aside and ran her fingers through his combed hair. After making it unruly, she turned her attention to his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons, effectively revealing his prominent clavicle. 

 

“There.” Morgana stepped back and admired her work. With a small “oh!” she gripped the right side of his shirt and untucked it, pulling roughly to wrinkle it. 

 

Merlin looked at her, then his shirt, then back at her. “What was that?” 

 

Morgana gestured to the mirror, where Merlin saw himself ruffled and a bit unruly. The alcohol had made his skin flushed, but the cold cloth Morgana had pressed against him had woken him out of a daze. There was no denying his instant, yet temporary, sobriety now.

 

“Do you see how attractive you are, Merlin? _You_ do the torturing for a change. Make him eat his heart out.” 

 

Staring at her, Merlin grabbed his bottle of water and walked to the door. Before he grasped the doorknob, he turned to her. “What-”

 

“Go!” And Morgana shoved him through the door to face everyone. 

 

Morgana probably timed everything perfectly, somehow. Merlin suspected she was a witch in another life. Because when she pushed him out of the bathroom and quickly closed the door behind her, he had bumped into Mithian and Arthur. 

 

“Merlin! There you are!” Mithian smiled as she recovered from being knocked into. Arthur, who took the brunt of Merlin’s stumbling, took a bit longer to steady himself. 

 

“Yeah, here I am,” Merlin smiled and opened his arms, embracing Mithian with a “happy birthday” murmured softly into her shoulder. Pulling back, she smiled gratefully. 

 

When Merlin stepped away, he noticed that Arthur was looking at him strangely. His face was masked; difficult to read. He turned to Arthur and waited for the eyes scrutinizing him to reach his own. 

 

Arthur swallowed thickly and finally looked at Merlin’s face. “You, uh.” He cleared his throat.

 

“…You look a lot better.” Mithian finished for Arthur. She regarded Arthur, frowning. 

 

Merlin smiled. “I _feel_ a lot better, thanks.” 

 

Morgana appeared, out of thin air, and placed her hand on Mithian’s arm. “Mithian, dear.” She said. Both Merlin and Arthur knew that tone of voice. It was sickly sweet, used only when Morgana had to speak to her father after a nasty fight. 

 

Mithian was on edge, obviously, as Morgana escorted her away. Their last encounter, Merlin reminded himself, had been rather heated. He heard the beginnings of a fake apology before the conversation was swallowed up by the celebrations around them. 

 

Arthur’s eyes returned to Merlin’s person. The two looked at each other. They hadn’t spoken for a while. Probably since their painfully jaded conversation at the cafe the other day. Perhaps it didn’t seem long to Arthur, but to Merlin it felt like he’d been devoid of his company for more than a month. Maybe it was because so much had happened. So much had changed. He could barely look at Arthur without cringing from his stupidity.

 

Merlin wasn’t nearly as surreptitious as he thought he was. Of _course_ Arthur had known about Merlin’s pathetic crush. And it wouldn’t even be that embarrassing if maybe he _used_ to be in love with Arthur. It was that he still was. How could anyone see past that? 

 

Merlin had been caught pining. It was one of the most vulnerable feelings. And, _fuck,_ was it humiliating.

 

Arthur’s knowledge of Merlin’s unhealthy obsession meant that every second of the two of them being together was tainted. What with, Merlin didn’t know. Maybe it was Arthur’s revulsion. Perhaps it was pity, or absolutely nothing because _he_ was nothing. 

 

When you love someone and they don’t love you back, it’s painful. It’s heart wrenching. There’s a hopelessness that fills the body until it is heavy with doubt and rejection. Thinking you’re not good enough, believing that no one could possibly love you… but inside all that muck, at the very heart, is an air pocket of possibility. A little breath of “maybe”, which makes everything worth it. We don’t go around looking for that torment. We don’t actively seek out feelings of inadequacy. But when we stumble upon them and submerge into the pain of it all, the only thing that keeps us there, perpetually drowning, is the thought that _maybe_ they can grow to love us back. And only then can we breathe. 

 

But Arthur knowing Merlin was going through this changed everything. It meant that Arthur was there, with the oxygen Merlin so desperately needed. He was there, watching Merlin’s body grow heavier and heavier, using up all the air from that small pocket inside him. And he chose not to act. He didn’t hold him under the water, he didn’t force him to endure it all. But he let it continue. Just a bystander, when he should’ve been a participant. And that was all the more painful. 

 

It was all the more painful… 

 

“I hear dinner with Uther didn’t go so well.” Merlin said softly. Arthur’s expression darkened a bit. “I’m sorry.”

 

Arthur gave him a wry grin, not necessarily a sneer, but still expressing the same amount of contempt. “Yeah?”

 

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

 

“Uh, yeah?” He screwed up his face. “I’ve had to deal with your father many times, Arthur. He’s certainly not the warm and fuzzy type.” 

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Morgana was worse.” He gestured uselessly toward his sister. “You two seemed to have lots of _fun_ together.” 

 

Merlin had to look at him a second time to be sure he understood just what he was talking about. He wanted to tell him that the weekend was anything _but_ fun, but then he realized what Arthur was saying. Narrowing his eyes, Merlin frowned deeply as the alcohol in his system heated him up. 

 

“What? Arthur, I was _sick._ All I did was _sleep._ ” 

 

When he received no reply, Merlin continued. “All I’ve tried to do is _help._ I told Mithian all about you, I gave you your privacy, I helped you with your gift… what is your _problem?”_

 

Huffing out a breath, Merlin shook his head and decided it’d be best if he just walked away. _Don’t pine, don’t obsess over it. Don’t let it ruin your night._ Already he could feel an anxiety attack creep up on him. His breath grew shorter, his heart rate increased, and he really needed to sit down. 

 

Shaking his head again, this time trying to tangle his own thoughts that were immediately jumping to conclusions, he made his way over to the drinks table and poured himself some already prepared tea. He sat in an isolated chair and stayed there as he breathed and sipped his tea. It lacked the heat that Merlin needed, but no matter.  He supposed, in the end, everything inside him was turning to ice. Tea wouldn’t warm his rapidly cooling heart. Maybe nothing would now...

 

* * *

 

 

When he calmed down, Merlin got up and forced himself to mingle. While it was very tiring, Merlin made his rounds, paying particular attention to Gwaine as he reached all kinds of drunk. He made sure to steer clear of Arthur. The only time he looked at him was when he got louder and rowdier. Apparently Arthur was hitting the drinks pretty hard. It was strange behaviour. 

 

As he was watching Arthur, Merlin decided to top up his water. As he did, though, he rather ungracefully bumped into someone.

 

“Oh!” Merlin placed his hand over his cup to prevent any spilling as he steadied himself. “I’m so sorry!”

 

The man in front of him was surprisingly familiar. “My fault.” He admitted. Merlin felt himself heat up when the stranger smiled at him. “You’re Merlin.”

 

Feeling a spark of recognition, Merlin smiled back. “Percival, right?” 

 

Nodding, Percival stuck out his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

 

Dazed, Merlin took his hand and shook it. “How did you-”

 

Looking back, Percival jutted his thumb over to Gwaine, who was rather engaged in a dirty joke contest with Leon. “Gwaine invited me.” Percival fixed his attention back on Merlin. “Well, he told me to call you, but I wanted to meet you first.” 

 

Realizing that the two were now basically holding hands, Merlin let go and looked from Gwaine to Percival, still puzzled. “S-sorry?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Percival let out a breath of laughter. “I’m guessing Gwaine didn’t actually get permission from you to give me your number?” Seeming rather embarrassed, Percival looked down at his shoes for a moment. “I swear he said he did, but once he’s got a few in him, you know, Gwaine’s not-”

 

“Oh!” Merlin then remembered the party they’d had for Morgana’s return. How Merlin had told Gwaine to give Percival his number. _Oh for fuck’s sake, Gwaine, it was a_ joke. “No, I’m sorry. Yes, I did give him permission. I just, I didn’t think-”

 

Percival regarded him with sincere interest. “You didn’t think I’d actually call.” 

 

Lifting his shoulders, Merlin could only embarrassingly open his mouth a few times with nothing to say. 

 

Percival didn’t seem to be offended by Merlin’s assumption. Instead he took a step forward. “Well, I would call.” He looked at Merlin with something like determination. “If you’d let me, of course.” 

 

Taking a moment to realize that was an actual request for permission, Merlin inhaled quickly and nodded. “Yeah.” He smiled again. “Yeah, that’d be great.”  

 

The two regarded each other for a few more moments before Percival checked his watch. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Night shift at the bar.” He placed his hand on Merlin’s forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I just came up to meet you.” 

 

Merlin could feel himself practically float as Percival retreated to the front door and left. Shortly after, he was bombarded by three squealing girls. 

 

 _“Who_ was _that?”_ Gwen asked. 

 

“Forget who, what’d you two talk about?” Mithian said. 

 

 _“Please_ tell me you got his number.” Morgana grabbed Merlin’s hand. 

 

“Percival. We talked about him calling me. He got my number.” Merlin addressed all three robotically. 

 

They responded by squealing again. Merlin covered his ears and laughed.

 

An annoyed looking Arthur appeared then, and he grabbed Mithian’s hand. “You all sound like a murder of crows.” He spat. “Leon’s leaving, Mithian. Let’s say goodbye.”

 

Mithian frowned at Arthur and as he guided her away, Merlin heard her say “what’s gotten _into_ you?”. He stared uneasily after the two. 

 

When the girls had calmed down, Merlin felt apprehension swell in his chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go out with Percival.” 

 

“Why not?” Morgana demanded. “You seemed fine before.” 

 

“Yeah, but-” Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “That all happened so fast, and he _surprised_ me. I didn’t even _think_ about Arthur when we talked. But now, I- I don’t know if I’m ready.” 

 

Gwen nodded her understanding. “It’s good you recognize that. But I see nothing wrong with it. Just make sure Percival doesn’t end up being a rebound.” She placed her hand on his and smiled. Leaning in, she said “I’m proud of you though.” 

 

Merlin couldn’t help his shy smile of gratitude. Morgana wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Me too.” And she kissed his cheek. “And Merlin, don’t you realize?” 

 

He looked at her and waited. 

 

“You just said you didn’t even _think_ about Arthur.”  

 

Merlin blinked. “Oh…”

 

And he didn’t know what to feel.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for my ridiculously and unacceptably late post. I promise I'll be updating monthly now until the story reaches its conclusion. I don't have any excuses other than lack of inspiration and writer's block. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> I'm sending all the love and hugs to people who have stayed with me through this story and to those who have expressed their support for me through the past two years. It's been a journey, but a light may be emerging from this black tunnel.


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin wanted very much to drink away his anxiety for the rest of the party; Arthur was getting more and more sloshed and seemed to be glaring daggers at him as each drink reached its end. And Mithian’s mood was worsening as her boyfriend’s belligerence intensified. Merlin had only seen him like this once before, and it was one of the most uncomfortable encounters he’d had with Arthur. And that said a lot. 

 

In fact, if he remembered properly, that was the first and only “sort of” hug Arthur had ever given him: When the both of them were drunk. Arthur had said something particularly rude to Merlin, who, in a fit of anger, had swung at him. Arthur had easily dodged the punch, and grabbed his wrist, pulling Merlin to his chest. His arm was twisted upward uncomfortably, but Merlin didn’t resist. He was, instead, frozen, surprised at their proximity. Arthur, then, gently let go and didn’t move. Merlin had stepped away, an appropriate distance, and turned to face him. He was most surprised when Arthur wrapped one arm around him and pulled him close, saying “sorry… that was unfair.” And that was that. Perhaps it was that moment that had etched Arthur’s name into Merlin, a moment suspended, wherein Merlin could exactly pinpoint the second his simple crush turned into something more. Something worse. 

 

Morgana remained by his side, placing a hand on Merlin’s arm anytime she caught Arthur glaring at the two of them. Having sobered up mostly, Merlin could feel himself slipping into his previous mood of a couple months. The longing he felt for Arthur and the _guilt_ (for some godforsaken reason) over semi-flirting with Percival perplexed him. Why should he feel guilty anyway? It’s not like he and Arthur were together. They were barely even _friends._

 

And yet, under the penetrative glare of Arthur, Merlin began to feel more and more uncomfortable, squirming as the glazed stare passed unprecedented judgement. Running a hand through his hair, Merlin excused himself from Morgana and retreated to his bedroom, hoping to find some sort of reprieve. 

 

“I’ll join you.” Morgana said, determined. 

 

“No.” He replied, a little too forcefully. And while Morgana didn’t look hurt from his tone, Merlin still took a moment to turn back and kiss her cheek. “No,” he said, softer this time. “I just…” he heaved a sigh, “I want to be alone.”

 

She knitted her eyebrows in sympathy and nodded in understanding. Squeezing his hand, Morgana offered a meek smile. “I’ll be right out here when you’re ready.” 

 

And how on earth could he ever be truly ready? 

 

He nodded, expression wry, and headed to his room. He passed by Gwen, who reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “Are you —”

 

“Fine.” Merlin shook her hand off, suddenly angry at how suffocated he felt. He made sure to give her a reassuring smile, but it slid off quickly as his eyes, yet again, met Arthur’s. Something, Merlin wasn’t sure what it was, but _something_ was gnawing at his insides, rubbing him raw from that look. That look of contempt, or reprimand. And even though he had done _nothing,_ Merlin still couldn’t help but feel ashamed. It crept up on him and sat its unbearable weight on his shoulders as his mind raced about all the things Arthur was thinking about him.

 

“Just need a minute. I’m fine,” he gritted out, and left before Gwen had a chance to say anything. 

 

Fine. Again. Slippery slope, my friend. But he’s fine.

 

Making sure to close the door quietly behind him, so as to not bring any attention to himself, Merlin turned to his room, feeling its size now more than ever. He fell onto his bed and buried his head under his pillow. 

 

It’s unclear how long he lay there, listening to the muffled party, the occasional shouts of laughter from Gwaine, or Mithian’s ever annoying titter. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, making absent notes of the dashes of colours that flitted across his vision. The shame in his gut hadn’t left him; he couldn’t even figure out _why_ it was there. And he suddenly couldn’t remember how he had felt before it appeared. Had he always felt this… _heavy?_

 

His phone rang, and all Merlin wanted to do was ignore it. Let it ring until it wouldn’t, ever again. But he’d learned his lesson from Will and his mum, and knew that him ignoring them would not, in any possible way, help how he was feeling. The amount of energy it took to pick it up, press “Accept”, and place it to his ear was draining. 

 

“Hi, mum.” His voice was gravel.

 

“Merlin,—” and he could hear the smile in her voice. The pride. It only made things worse. “— how are you?” 

 

He rolled over onto his back while inhaling deeply. “M’fine.” 

 

The pause at the end of the line told him he wasn’t as convincing as he’d hoped. “…are you sure? You don’t sound fine.”

 

Merlin faked a good-natured chuckle. “No, really. I’m just a bit tired. Mithian’s party is a lot more trying than I thought it would be.”

 

“Are people being nice?” And by “people”, he knew she meant “Arthur”. He stifled a groan of annoyance. Just _stop!_ Everyone, just _stop._

 

He hummed in feigned contentment, “yeah. It’s really just my being tired. How are you?” 

 

“I’m well.” Her smile was detectable in her voice. Merlin’s insides ached with envy. “I just wanted to call and check up.” 

 

Tears of frustration burned his eyes and he hastily swiped at them. He bit down on his lip to stave off the possible quiver in his voice. “I’m fine, mum. Thanks. But I should get back; don’t want to be rude.” 

 

Hunith chuckled lightly. “You could never be that, dear.”

 

They said their goodbyes, his mother saying she loved him, and Merlin only replying “you too”.He wasn’t sure what made him say that, but it felt dishonest to tell her how much he loved her when he was lying to her. It was easier when he was ignoring her; he didn’t have to talk to her at all… didn’t have to face her. 

 

Covering his eyes with his hand, Merlin drew in a few shaky breaths until he felt his chest deflate to normal size. He swallowed thickly and gripped the phone in his other hand. 

 

The door to his room opened, and Merlin sighed roughly. “Gwen, _please_ just leave me alone.” 

 

She didn’t reply. So he uncovered his eyes and leaned up on his forearms. 

 

“Arthur—” 

 

And there he was, swaying back and forth in his drunken haze. He was squinting at Merlin, almost looking morose. 

 

“What, uh… What are you doing here?” And Merlin sat up straight, hoisting his legs over to the side of the bed to rest on the floor, to ground himself.

 

Arthur didn’t answer. He just looked around. “V’never been in your room b’fore.” He commented as he pushed the door closed. The alcohol and the slight tiredness that usually follows added a gruff quality to his voice, and Merlin felt heat pool in his groin. 

 

Not wanting to make an ass of himself, Merlin shrugged. “S’nothing special.” And he looked around, revaluing it as Arthur’s eyes wandered over it: His desk, the blue accent wall against which his bed rested… and then they flitted to Merlin. Arthur squinted again. 

 

“Why are you crying?”

 

Merlin’s hand, which had been enclosed in the other on his lap, flew up and felt his cheeks, surprised. “Oh—” And they were, indeed, damp. 

  
Unsure of how to answer, he just swiped at his eyes again, sniffled, and brought his hand back to the other, hoping that when Arthur woke up the next morning, he wouldn’t remember this. 

 

Please don’t remember this. 

 

It was silent as Arthur regarded him again, still looking troubled. The two didn’t say anything as one looked at the other, tension thickening as each second passed. So Merlin tried again: “What are you doing here?”

 

Arthur shrugged, before procuring a bottle of beer that Merlin hadn’t seen him holding and taking a sip. “Needed space.” 

 

Narrowing his eyes with confusion and skepticism, Merlin opened his mouth. “And why are you in _my_ room?”

 

Pulling the bottle from his lips roughly, Arthur sneered, “what, am I not _allowed_ to be here?” And a bit of beer dribbled down the side of his mouth. 

 

Shocked, Merlin raised his hands in compliance. “Sorry,” he said, suddenly even more upset. “I just thought you’d take refuge in your _girlfriend’s_ room.” 

 

He had meant it innocently enough, but immediately regretted it when Arthur’s face twisted unpleasantly, obviously not happy with his comment. He felt like he’d been caught out by a school teacher, his stomach plummeting and his knees weakening. 

 

“Fine, you wan’ me to leave? I can fucking leave—” And Arthur turned around swiftly to fumble at the door. But his balance failed him and he fell against the wall. 

 

Merlin was up in an instant, crossing the room and grabbing his forearms to steady him. The bottle of beer had fallen, its remaining contents spilt on the carpet. He made a mental note, along with a sigh, to clean that later. 

 

Arthur, slumped against the wall, took a long time to recover. And when he did, he pushed himself closer to Merlin, breathing heavily. This was unfamiliar territory. And Merlin wasn’t quite sure how to behave, what to do, what to say. A part of him, the self-preserving part of him, told him to find Morgana or Mithian. But he didn’t want to. He just wanted this… this moment with Arthur. This moment where for once, _Arthur_ was vulnerable, and Merlin had more clarity. Was that so wrong? Was that selfish?

 

After a moment, Arthur’s hands, which had been against the wall, reached over to grip Merlin’s upper arms. He lifted his head, eyes unfocused with inebriation, and stared at Merlin’s face. Stomach dropping, Merlin could only look back, feeling his lungs constrict and his heart ache. He couldn’t let go of him…he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t be able to.

 

“Why…” Arthur’s voice came out roughly, cracking with misuse. “Why do you like me?”

 

The room smothered him as shock took hold of him. He felt his mind obnubilate, slip into the surly bonds of dread as Arthur’s words, as his _true_ meaning scratched itself into his skin. He thought he’d bleed. Any semblance of control he’d had over his features abandoned him, and Merlin could feel the desperately stifled shame and embarrassment burst forth and flood his insides, a deluge suffocating him from the inside out. He swallowed nervously and looked away. 

 

“I—” He took a shuddering breath and ignored the tear that fell. “I don’t know,” and Merlin looked back, willing himself to be brave and look into Arthur’s eyes. 

 

Both men took a few moments, exchanging breaths; Arthur’s laboured, Merlin’s shaky. 

 

When Arthur looked down between them, his hands clasped onto the other’s upper arms, Merlin’s on his forearms, he mumbled, as though he didn’t want to say it: “V’not been a very good friend to you.”

 

He was surprised to realize that, even though Arthur was admitting it, it didn’t make him feel any better. He felt no relief. In fact, he felt worse, because that meant Arthur _knew_ he was being unkind and still continued to do it. Still continued to spit cruel things at him, acid searing through his confidence. His being. At least with the thought that Arthur simply didn’t know he was being mean, Merlin could hope that there was some sort of friendship between them. 

 

But now their dynamic had shifted… a stranded man pining after the one who left him marooned.

 

He was so fucked up. 

 

Afraid of breaking whatever the hell this was, Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, you haven’t.” 

 

He felt more than heard Arthur take a deep breath, filling his chest. Almost as though he wasn’t expecting Merlin’s confirmation. Almost as though he’d hoped Merlin would deny it and shower him with good natured affection. 

 

Normally, he would’ve. But Merlin couldn’t give him that anymore. How could he, when he couldn’t even give himself that?

 

“…m’sorry.” Arthur spoke softly, sincerely, his grip on Merlin’s arms tightening for a moment. Opening his eyes slowly, Merlin averted his gaze; he looked at Arthur’s chest first, mustering the strength it took to finally lift his eyes to the other’s again. 

 

And he so badly wanted to say “I forgive you”. So badly wanted to let it all be over, let Arthur stop _knowing_ how he felt. Stop influencing how he felt. He wanted to just shrug it off and skip to the end where he wasn’t an island, alone and desolate. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t give Arthur that. He couldn’t give _himself_ that. He deserved more. 

 

So he lifted his shoulders helplessly, pausing for a second before dropping them, and didn’t offer an acceptance or rejection. That’s how it had to be. Neither “it’s fine” or “it’s not fine”. Just… “fine”.

 

And perhaps that was the only time “fine” was what Merlin meant. 

 

Arthur’s face had fallen, and he looked sad for himself, sad for Merlin. That clearly wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. He’d hoped for more. So had Merlin. 

 

When it seemed that all that could be said had been, Merlin looked away and released Arthur, safe in knowing they were both relatively steady on their feet. But Arthur didn’t let go. Instead, he tightened his grip. 

 

“ _Mer_ lin,” he said, giving his arms a shake. 

 

Before he could look at him again, Arthur closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth against Merlin’s.

 

Breath stolen from him, Merlin’s eyes automatically fluttered shut. He felt his heart seize before breaking, instantly aware of the context surrounding them. He stepped back, burnt. 

 

“What are you doing?!” He said, frantic. 

 

Arthur looked at him belatedly, almost as though he, too, didn’t know what he’d just done. “I—”

 

“Why did you do that?!” Merlin wiped at his mouth as the anxiety began to swell. His chest cracked open and spilled out, leaving himself smaller, lesser, a Matryoshka. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

 

Ripping his arms free, Merlin turned to the door and flung it open. In his aggression, the door thudded loudly against the wall. 

 

“No, Merlin wait!” 

 

The room was too small, his flat was too small… it was closing in on him. Too many walls, too many people, too hot. His head began to swim as he hurried to the front door. 

 

He heard both Gwen and Morgana call his name, alarmed. Grabbing his coat, Merlin fumbled around, looking for his shoes. He couldn’t find them. Where were his shoes? Why weren’t they where he left them this afternoon? Where are his shoes why is there a pile of them there are too many shoes at this goddamn party _where the fuck are his shoes?!_

 

“What’s happened?” Gwen asked loudly. She reached down and grabbed her own shoes before pulling her coat off the hanger. 

 

“I can’t—” the voice that escaped him sounded too loud, too foreign. It was high pitched, breathy. It didn’t feel like he was doing any of these movements, any of these actions. “I can’t find my shoes, Gwen!” He spoke at her before heaving in a desperate breath, trying to get as much air in his lungs as he could. Distantly, he noticed the noise of the party had lessened. “Where are—” But his breathing was coming out laboriously; he felt no air in his body, no knowledge of him being able to breathe. Scrambling, Merlin’s hand skated over every pair he could find that was littering the foyer, but his panic made him overlook things, miss things. He needed to leave he had to leave get out it’s too small in here — fuck _fuck!_ “ _Where the fuck are my shoes?!”_

 

Morgana’s hand appeared in front of his eyes, then, holding his shoes. He ripped them from her grip and stumbled into the corridor, limbs a mess, hands shaking as he pulled his shoes on. He heard Morgana briskly order Gwen to go with him before she turned on her heels and stomped to Merlin’s room. 

 

The last thing he could hear before the door closed was Morgana’s reverberant _“What did you do to him!”_

 

What did he do?

 

What did he do

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t—” His breathing caught in his throat, blocked the airway and wouldn’t allow anything else to get through. His veins bulged, every single one too large for his skin, coursing through him, pushing his pulse into every corner of his body. “I can’t _breathe—”_

 

Merlin knew they had made it out of the apartment; the noise had settled and it was cooler now. But he couldn’t see anything other than the ground beneath him as he keeled over, trying to get his head between his legs. 

 

He distantly heard Gwen hushing him, telling him to copy what she was doing, copy her breathing. “Watch, Merlin,” And she inhaled loudly, straightening her back as Merlin stared ahead, and motioned for him to follow. He tried, stuttering through the blockage. She hunched as she exhaled, exaggerating every breath for Merlin to see. “Slow, Merlin. Sweetheart, you have to _breathe_.” 

 

_No,_ he shook his head. Gwen, you don’t understand he cannot **_breathe._** Can you not see that? There’s no air in here he can’t he can’t he can’t

 

He felt himself shaking, every nerve ending trying to abandon the sinking ship that was Merlin. His pseudo inhales and exhales became rhonchi, almost like he were affected with bronchitis. A hand was pressed to his chest, trying feebly to force it to work. 

 

His knees were bent slightly below him, feeling weightless and heavy at the same time as the blood roared through his body in violent rapidity. 

 

Tears were being squeezed out of his eyes as he tried to push out air, allow some room in his lungs for oxygen to come in. Nausea bubbled at the top of his stomach, blotting over his esophagus, and suddenly every drink he’d had was vomited up on the streets. The force of his heaving paused his breathing, and the need to inhale after he was done allowed him the break necessary to draw in air, let it out. 

 

Inout, Inout, Inout—

 

In out— 

 

In, out—

 

“In… out”—

 

Gwen’s voice registered in the deep confines of his mind, stretching to wherever he’d gone. And the cool, reassuring hand on his cheek guided him to her, arm stretched out in comforting help. They were out on the streets now, the cold air washing over him in soothing waves. The fog lifted, his eyesight sharpened, the roaring in his ears calmed.

 

His heart, though still racing, stopped raging in its cage, settled but alert. 

 

He was leaning against the brick surface of his building, still doubled over. One hand was against his chest, the other had, at some point, gripped the building for security. After closing his eyes and giving himself a moment, he straightened and drew his hand away. And—

 

“Oh, Merlin, your _hand.”_

 

In his frenzy, he’d gripped the stone so severely that the tips of his fingers, skin and nail, were shredded. Blood trickled lightly down his palm. He didn’t know what to do. 

 

Gwen dug into her pockets, took out a tissue and pressed it to his hand, telling him to keep it there until they could find a suitable alternative. Side stepping the vomit, she reached her arm around Merlin’s torso and pulled him along. She ignored their usual café, determined to find a place for them to sit, undisturbed. 

 

Merlin’s arms, with one hand fisted, were wrapped around his stomach. He felt small as he hunched over, concaving his chest in until it hurt. Gwen’s arm, supporting him, tightened and her other hand rested on his arms, lightly stroking them as they walked in silence.

 

After a time, they came across a coffee shop that was, thankfully, open 24 hours. Glancing at the clock above the cash register, Merlin was surprised to find it was only eleven in the evening. He’d thought he lost hours. 

 

Gwen sat him at the booth furthest from the door before going up to the counter and ordering them both coffees. She came back, placed a steaming mug in front of him, and sat across from him. 

 

She took a sip of her coffee. Two. Merlin stared at his, unmoving. 

 

“Can you give me your hand?” She asked quietly. Robotically, Merlin stretched his arm out to her, offering his bloodied hand. As she pulled the tissue away from his fingers, it tore from the stickiness, leaving bits and pieces on his skin. She sighed. “We need to wash this.”

 

Nodding, Merlin got up and went to the loo. He turned the tap water to hot, searing hot, and placed his fingers under the stream. It stung, from the exposure, but the heat didn’t bother him. From the corner of his eye, Merlin could see his reflection moving in the mirror. But he didn’t look at it. He couldn’t look at himself.

 

When he returned, he noticed that Gwen had moved to his side of the booth, leaving room for him to sit beside her. He stiffly sat himself next to her and offered his hand again. She surveyed it and tutted softly. 

 

“I don’t have a plaster. I can ask the lady—”

 

“Leave it.” Merlin ordered. He stared at the fraying material of the booth in front of him. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

Gwen frowned at him but didn’t reply. She curled her fingers around his hand and lowered them to the table. She didn’t ask any questions. She just ran her thumb over his palm gently and sipped from her mug. 

 

After a few minutes of silence, Gwen pushed Merlin’s coffee to him. “You should drink something. Get that nasty taste out of your mouth.” 

 

He didn’t even realize how his mouth was coated with his bile until she said that. He gripped the handle of the mug in his uninjured hand and finally drank.

 

Merlin couldn’t look at her. The memory of it all flashed guilt through him so violently he flinched. “He…” And he shifted uncomfortably, somehow trying to find a position that would make this easier. He tried again, but it bit through him like a parasite. “He kissed me.” 

 

There. He said it. It was out in the air, which meant there was no denying it. There was no pretending that it was all in his head. It was real. It happened. 

 

The thumb stroking his palm stopped and Merlin finally stole a glance. Gwen’s eyebrows were raised in surprise. Then, as she thought more about it, her eyebrows furrowed and she exhaled deeply. That’s when he looked away. 

 

“Merlin,” she said gently. She tried coaxing him to look at her, but he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, tugging. 

 

Gwen wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to rest against her chest. Dropping a few kisses in his hair, she smoothed it over and quietly whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

 

Merlin gripped her arm tightly. “I stopped it, I swear I didn’t—”

 

“I know.” Another kiss. “It’s not your fault.”

 

And he finally relaxed into her, relieved that he hadn’t, somehow, brought this upon himself. Tears blurred his vision and Gwen stayed steady for him. He sniffled. Her grip tightened.

 

“What do I do?” 

 

She rested her cheek on the top of his head. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. And then, fiercely, she added: “But you’re not alone.” 

 

As the tears pushed their way through, as he turned his face closer to her chest, he allowed himself a brief moment of rest. His shoulders shook with bottled up emotion, his hands clung to the fabric of her jacket. And there Gwen stayed, as it should’ve been months ago, unflinchingly strong beside him to help ease the way. For the first time in a long time, Merlin felt her words ring true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so so so sorry. I'm not going to write a long paragraph of reasons for not updating, because I'm sure it's starting to get tiresome. I'm just going to apologize. Thank you to those who still read this despite my ridiculous hiatus. I appreciate you all so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much!


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